


Abyss

by samaya



Series: The Abyss [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Body Horror, Bottom Jared, Child Abuse, Dark Jensen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Jared, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Moral Ambiguity, Past Rape/Non-con, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:01:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samaya/pseuds/samaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared has two constants in his life. Darkness and Ocean. He searches for solace in them, embraces them with open arms. When a chance expedition sets out to explore the mysteries buried in the deep ocean, he doesn't think twice about going. For Jensen Ackles the next assignment is a punishment in disguise. A dead end. The abyss has a number of surprises for both of them. The ocean asks for sacrifices and soon they realize that nothing is as it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank my beta **tearsoffand** for her hard work. Without her this story would have remained incomplete.  
>  I'd like to thank my artist **blfyw** for the wonderful artwork. Please check it over [here](http://bflyw.livejournal.com/673212.html)  
>  Kudos to **wendy** for organizing spn_j2_bigbang every year. I'm new to the challenge and I really enjoyed the experience.
> 
> Warnings: This story is loosely based on the Rifter trilogy by Peter Watts.This is not a happy story by any stretch of imagination, but, I'd like to think that it has a relatively happyish/hopeful ending.  
>  

The abyss should shut you up, should make you realize the futility of your entire life.

The ocean is a master manipulator, a cunning thief, charming and deceptive. She is the mistress who will never truly belong to one man, changes her mind as easily as the water flows. A mistress with a temper, she hides thousands of dark secrets in her womb. On moonless nights she is charming, all shy and demure like a new bride meeting her husband for the first time. On other days she is not so good, troubled and lethal, poisonous. When moon is high in the skies, she rises to meet him with all her might, mindless and violent in her pursuits. Hundreds of ships, thousands of men, lying broken and dead on her floors are the testimony to her changing moods.

Sunlight kisses these waters every day, brings out the colors of different shades. Orange and red, azure and green, all colors come out and play, like children playing in a playground. At sunrise and sunset, the waters are a beautiful mixture of orange and red, bordering on saffron, joyful, as if celebrating the death and rebirth of the sun. Throughout the day the waters retain a single color, sapphire, harmless and pleasing to the eye. Clear like the blue skies after the first rain, fresh like the first drops of snow.

The tides are her faithful servants, companions. Their rhythm constitutes some kind of music, the sound of it both primitive and beautiful. Prehistoric animals must have heard this music, must have smelled the fresh scent of salt, must have been touched by the same clean breeze of air that touches you today. A million species must have witnessed this beautiful symphony during their lifetime.

A grave. Ocean is a mass grave. A billion life forms must have died in her loving arms and she lets everyone in without screening.

Then there is the abyss. It is called by a thousand names, for a thousand generations, inspiring awe and terror in mortal hearts. The ocean floor, Davy Jones’ locker, the deep fathom, it contains the virgin waters untouched by sunlight.

Down there, the darkness is absolute, total. Sunlight hasn’t touched these waters in a million years, and perhaps will not touch them in near future. Down there, in the absence of the light, lifeforms evolve and survive, go through the motions without understanding anything of importance. Down there, everything is colorless, everything is blind. No oxygen, high pressure, absolute darkness. This hostile environment is home to scavengers and monsters, breeding ground for bizarreness. Crawling and blind, the inhabitants creep on the seabed searching for things that we would never understand.

This was the place where life began all those years ago; this was the dark nursing room where evolution’s infancy must have been spent. This is where one can find some answers if one is inclined to do so.


	2. Chapter 2

Jared opens his eyes and darkness greets him with the most welcoming arms.

His heart is working overtime, beating and thumping in the cavity behind his ribs, straining like an engine past its prime. His body is shaking like a leaf, nerves stretched tight with tension, almost to the point of breaking. His mouth is slightly open, lips pink and bitten, trembling with the remains of a half-finished dream. Tears escape from his eyes, silent and unbidden, liquid drops trace a silvery path over his cheeks before ending on the floor.

He is stuck in that moment where his mind is awake but his body is just catching on. The details of the dream are already distant, silently slipping from the gaps of his memory like water escaping through closed fingers. Like a message written on a fogged mirror, this dream eludes him, taunts him with the merest of hints. The vivid colors are still present in his mind, filling the empty places with their beautiful designs. The parts are all present, but he can’t figure out the whole picture from it.

The dreams come true, the nightmares made real. Dreams can’t touch his flesh, they don’t have that capacity. But they can clearly play with his mind. A glorious dream or a terrible nightmare, he could never tell which is which; both are capable of producing this reaction in him. He can’t decide which one is the culprit in this particular case.

A fine tremor runs through his body again, leaving fresh goosebumps in it’s wake. A thin line of sweat forms on his forehead.

His body has other concerns, though. The faint hint of excitement runs through his veins, fueling his nerves. The hardness between his legs settles the deal for him. His boxers are almost wet with pre-come, and his cock is completely interested despite the occasional shudders that go through his body. This is not a new development by any stretch of the imagination, not unexpected but not anticipated either.

The light switch is just beside the bed. He can just lift a finger and push it. No, not even that is necessary. A simple command would do. It won’t take much time. It certainly will not take much energy than he can afford to spare. The lights would switch-on in a second; all he has to do is to say the words. In the presence of light, the dreams and nightmares will vanish without a trace.

He doesn’t. No verbal commands are issued, no efforts are made.

Jared doesn’t reach for the light. The darkness is home, is the womb where all sins are forgiven. Here, he can hide his shame. Here he can pretend to be someone else, can enact the dialogues from some half-forgotten script. Here, he can exist without being seen. The illusion is easier to maintain in the cloak of darkness, fragile like a newborn child, it’ll shatter in the harshness of light. The darkness is more than the absence of light. It is a separate entity, more merciful and understanding than light could ever hope to be.

His hands reach between his legs, unmindful of their owner’s protests. He is aching there, almost shaking from desire. He doesn’t undress, just pushes his hands inside his boxers and tugs at his cock. It’s rough, almost bordering on painful, but it’s also good, very good. He establishes a rhythm, adds up little twists at the end, intent on finishing the job as soon as possible. A stray finger tries to find it’s way toward his perineum, touching the soft skin behind his balls, in search of some pleasure points. It’s restricted territory and the thrill laced with disgust is enough to tip him over the edge. It doesn’t take much time and soon the warm seed spills on his hands, and air carries the bitter odor of sex along with (the) salty tears.

A sigh escapes his lips, the pleasure of that last orgasm taking a backseat in his mind, allowing the shame to come to a forefront. He hates this, hates the aftermath, every fucking time. Despite the shame and the disgust, he finds himself in the same situation, every other night. By this time, the sex and shame are like twin sisters, and Jared knows both of them intimately.

Like a recovering addict he curses himself after every orgasm, vows that he will never do it again, makes a thousand promises that he never manages to keep. If he concentrates, he can hear soft sounds from outside; can hear the rustle of leaves in the quiet, quiet night. He turns his body toward the source and tries to sleep again. The distant roar of ocean is heard and finally blessedly the sleep comes.

**-**

Later, in the quiet that comes before the dawn, he would stand in front of the mirror, would murmur in a soft voice, would regret the previous night, and would struggle to meet the eyes that stare back at him from the mirror. _I’m sick_ he would say, and his reflection would disagree. I’m sick, he would say again, like it is an indisputable truth, as real and clear as the gravity itself.

The reflection in the mirror would stare at him impassionedly—without judgment.

_I’m Jared. I’m tall. I’m white. I’m male. I’m American._ He would say. All these words surround him like markers, like the little taglines that people put on perishables in a supermarket. And he is the new sample that needs to be identified, categorized and put in the appropriate box for later use.

_I’m sick,_ he would say again, just to emphasize the point. And invisible markers start swirling around his head; writing those letters on his forehead in black, black ink. The truth would burn his flesh. Like a mockery, the charred words sit there and define him, a tattoo for the entire world to see and understand what he is.

And finally, after a lot of convincing, his reflection would echo his words, mouth twitching in an ugly sneer, eyes judging him for all his worth.

_You are sick,_ the voice would whisper. And he would fall apart like a house of cards, but there would be satisfaction too, the kind that comes from advertising the truth.

Another day would begin.

 **-** 

In the morning he doesn’t look at the soiled boxers, drops them in the dustbin without much thought. They were getting old, and it was time for him to get some new ones, anyway. He takes a bath with cold water, cherishing the goosebumps that appear out of nowhere. With every drop the water washes him, caresses him with the old weathered hands of a saint, and makes him pure. He always feels like there is a fire inside him, ever burning and all consuming, a flame which knows no bounds. It’s impossible to extinguish the flames, but these showers help to contain them.

Breakfast consists of pancakes and coffee, instead of usual vitamins and food supplements. Once in a while he likes to indulge himself, and food is one of the safest ways to do that. He sips the coffee with an uncharacteristic smile on his face, relishing in the bitter taste of caffeine.

The day starts out as usual, mundane and uneventful, utterly boring. Jared browses the news, gets updated with the latest buzz. In the end he switches off the laptop with some disgust. It’s all the same, really. Greenhouse effect, new genetic mutations found in reptiles, a virus outbreak in Brazil, all the usual things.

Jared Padalecki bored of the usual litany of failures. That will be a novel thing to witness.

Some of the stories make him chuckle with their absurdity and some others make him roll his eyes. If all fails, he can always find the entertainment in news.

**-**


	3. Chapter 3

Jensen looks at the lump on the ground and aims another kick at it. His foot connects with the chest of the prone form, and the body twitches and groans, curls and moves, shying away from the constant attacks.

This irritates him more than anything. He kicks the man again, bends down and turns him on his side, all the time holding the knife in his hand. The man is barely conscious, with dilated pupils and a slow heartbeat, yet he manages to flinch when knife touches his throat. Jensen makes a shallow cut, right on the jugular vein and presses, the pressure not enough to kill, but enough to hurt. Blood starts to trickle down from the wound, wets the white fabric of the man’s shirt and falls on the ground, mixing with the soil.

The blood is sticky and indistinguishable when mixed with the black soil. The man looks up, eyes wide open and entirely alert, face twisted in pain. Something is broken inside him, perhaps a bone, perhaps a rib. For now, the drugs are helping with the swelling, but Jensen can see that he is going to need help, soon.

Good, Jensen thinks with satisfaction.

He twitches his lips, faint disgust coloring his features in a frown. He doesn’t like this, and frankly he is getting bored with this case, this subject. The people upstairs are really getting stupid if they are assigning these random marks to him.

“Who hired you? What did you find out?” He asks again, twisting the knife a little and pressing in. Anymore pressure and he would cut into the jugular. The blood will splash in a fountain and Jensen’s clothes will become dirty. The average human body contains 5.5 liters of blood. That is a lot of blood to wash away. And Jensen doesn’t own any gadgets to do the laundry duty. When the man doesn’t answer Jensen silently considers his options. He could break some bones, could become creative with the remaining fingernails. He could use fire too, one of the sure ways to extract information. A third degree burn will do nicely. When the first of the blisters will start appearing even the most determined will start speaking. Only problem is that he doesn’t want to use any of these methods. They are so crude, so prehistoric that he despises them just on principle.

He’s just never been a big fan of any these techniques, that’s all.

“I’m not going to ask again. Who hired you? ” He replaces the knife with his thumb, pressing on the wound, but not pressing in. Casually brings the blade up, near the grey, scared eyes, the tip almost touching the eyelid. The man tries to twist and turn, already sensing the danger, but Jensen has an iron grip on him.

Come to think of it; that eyeball might look good in his collection. He could use it as a paperweight, or he could keep it as a souvenir. It’s straightforward, really. He can extract it and then continue questioning; the man might become more accommodating after this little demonstration.

“Flinch and you will never see again. I’ll start with your eyes but I won’t stop there. Do you know how many nerve endings there are in the human body? Do you want to know how much pain you can take before you die? If you don’t want know that, then, be a good boy and tell me. Tell. Me.” The man starts sweating, and the air smells of fear. Jensen can practically taste it on his tongue, delicious and sweet like fresh honey.

Fuck it. His control is slipping. This guy is just asking for it.

The man opens his quivering mouth, and when he speaks his voice is wrecked. Jensen can see the tears falling on his precious blade, glittering in the early sun. The man is a shaking, broken shell and he is making a mess of Jensen’s things.

“I don’t know, I swear,” He cries. “I don’t know, I don’t know anything, please let me go!”

Jensen frowns. As far as he can tell, this man isn’t lying. He can detect no masking, no effort of deception in his voice, in his body. For a second he thinks; is it possible that the man is telling the truth? Is it possible that Jensen is mistaken? The thought, the possibility of failure is abhorrent to him, but nevertheless he considers it.

He calls in one of the augments to do the testing and waits until the inspection is completed, puts a finger on the man’s temple and orders the augment to do the rest. The data is collected and processed within seconds, a thousand little things like heartbeat and hormone levels collected and superficially analyzed for Jensen’s benefit. Jensen gets the gist of the idea, even though he can’t understand how the system works. It’s somewhat like electricity—you use it every day, you have the idea—you are just not sure about the details.

He waits patiently for the results to appear. And they conform to his suspicions.

The man appears to be telling the truth. Either he is very, very good at this kind of work or he is an innocent. All of Jensen’s instincts are screaming that the latter is the case here.

If this man is not a spy then there won’t be any Intel to extract. That means Jensen just wasted his time interrogating a no-namer. He’s pissed, kind of. It doesn’t matter. Spy or not, Jensen’s got to off him. This man was some nobody—until now. Now, he has become a liability, a security breach. Tomorrow questions will arise, and loopholes will start to appear. Jensen can’t let him go, can’t afford to have security loopholes, he just can’t. He’s got to close this loophole, that’s his job.

This man was Jensen’s case to handle, was Jensen’s subject to interrogate. Now he has become another loose end, and Jensen has to tie up this one. He doesn’t have a choice.

**-**

Jensen would regret killing this man—an innocent, no less—if he was capable of entertaining such thoughts.

It’s compulsive, even addictive. _Purgatory_ will kill him if doesn’t follow the instinct like a good old killing machine. _Purgatory_ is there, in his blood, in his brain, waiting and watching his every move. If he fails at the task, _Purgatory_ will take over. And he hates when he has no control.

As if summoned _Purgatory_ activates in his blood, and he can feel the effect of the drug in his veins. In a moment the impulse to kill turns into compulsion, and his muscles lock in position, sending signals to the brain. Yes, press the knife in, a little deeper, a little harder, kill him, _Purgatory_ sings, manipulates, and Jensen wants to dance to the tune. Soon, he’ll relish the music to become a mindless zombie. In a minute he will have no choice but to obey.

The man looks up with fear in his eyes, as if he suddenly understands what Jensen wants to do, what Jensen must do. Jensen doesn’t hesitate, moves the knife back to the position, ready to cut his throat in a second. It is better this way, he thinks as the anticipation builds in him. The guy will die before he knows what hit him, and Jensen can go home with the satisfaction of another job well done. And there will be no burning involved. A simple, clean kill. A relatively painless death—what more could a man ask for?

That sweet, sweet moment before the kill stretches infinitely and Jensen savors it, loving every second and wanting more. Just as he bringing the knife down his earpiece rings. The cool and collected voice of Danneel flows from the other end.

“Angels are falling,” She says in a clear voice—every word spoken flawlessly, every syllable pronounced unambiguously.

Angels are falling. It’s a trigger phrase; means stop the kill. It means hold your horses, and wait for further instructions. It’s not for him, obviously. It’s an order directly issued for the benefit of _Purgatory_.

Jensen unlocks. The compulsion to kill leaves him; _Purgatory_ retreats, becomes dormant, and hides in the distant corners of his brain. He stops the descent of the knife just in time and extracts it from the flesh of the man beneath him, chuckling mirthlessly.

“I see you are still in the business. Cock-blocking much?” He says. He means it literally, because the thrill he gets from this, the high he can reach via killing is better than what sex can ever offer. The slow burn of the fight coupled with the anticipation of the impending kill has already had him hard. And it’s just like Danneel too, cock-blocking him when he is on the verge of getting off. He almost hates her for this, almost.

“I’m still in the business,” She says playfully and then adds in a more somber tone, “Actually I have been promoted, you should show me some respect. I’m your boss now.”

“Oh,” Jensen says. Honestly speaking, he is not surprised, Danneel kind of had it in her, and she is stepping up the ladder faster than anyone had predicted. But he puts the right amount of wonder in his voice, for her benefit.

“You knew?” She asks.

“No” He lies. By now it is like second nature to him. You could connect him to one of those fancy lie-detectors that map your brain and you wouldn’t get a single thing out of him. It’s a great virtue, the ability to mask the truth without raising any kind of red flags, has helped immensely in his profession.

“Let him go. He is innocent, he doesn’t know anything,” She says, and Jensen can hear the accusation in her voice, you screwed up this time, implied.

Jensen didn’t, honestly. He’s not in the business of creating loopholes. He closes the existing ones. With determination.

When you are a corporation with immense power, you get a lot of supporters. On the flip side, you get enemies too. And you’ll need someone to take care of them, to do the so-called clean-up duty. That is when Jensen comes into picture.

“He’s a security risk, a loophole. We need to close them, I need to close them.” The last bit is true. He doesn’t need _Purgatory_ to enjoy killing, he manages to do that on his own and these last minute change of plans always leave him in a sour mood.

“Not your concern anymore. We’ll deal with him,” She says, the dismissal clear in her voice, final. Jensen sighs and lets it go.

He’ll get another chance, He’ll get another one. The world is full of loopholes that need to be closed.

“Where is my next assignment?” He asks, somewhat curious. A change of scenery would be good now.

“It’s classified,”

“I’ll be waiting,” He turns around, walks away from the man on the ground, searching for some place to wash the blood off. He doesn’t have any problem with getting his hands dirty, but he doesn’t like to keep them like that for too long.

The man groans and tries to get up unsuccessfully. His head thumps on the hard concrete floor and makes a soft thud on contact. Jensen doesn’t look back. Not his assignment, not anymore. Not his responsibility.

“I’d say you never change, Ackles,” Danneel says before disconnecting.

And for the second time since the day started Jensen chuckles.


	4. Chapter 4

The nights are longer now, the days shorter. The sunrays struggle to penetrate through the fog that covers the skies. The light manages to fall on the face of the earth, but it’s feeble, not like it was before. The colors are still there, but they are less intense now, muted. Monochromatic, as if something has sucked the life out of the light, as if something has been feeding on it.

There was a debate about that, back when the government still had some kind of hold over the corporations. Pollution, the scientists had claimed, was the culprit. The government funded research was discontinued; the results were deemed inconclusive.

Nowadays no one gives a second thought. No use in wasting time on inevitable, a survival strategy.

Jared knows all about survival strategies.

His eyes sweep across the room, silently counting the heads around him. There are seven people in the cabin, excluding him, of course. He can hear their breaths, each inhale and exhale distinct in his ears like some kind of unholy music. They are using oxygen, too much of it and Jared feels claustrophobic. He prays for the meeting to conclude soon.

Four men and three women, all qualified for the job, all professionals. Jared introduces himself and shakes hands with each of them, one by one. He makes a note in his mind that goes with each person, like a tagline for identification. The trick makes it easier for him to remember each one of them without confusion.

Sophia, Genevieve, Cindy. Chad, Chris, Jeff, Jensen.

Three C’s, two J’s, one S and one G. Jared was always good with the alphabet.

The girls don’t register on his radar, they usually don’t. He isn’t under the illusion that they are harmless, but they personally don’t bother him. It is understandable, given the nature of his proclivities. Chad is definitely someone to look out for, even though he seems kind of dopey and lost. Chris has that aura around him; the one that screams of righteous anger, of rightful revenge. Jared pegs him as a user.

Each one of them sinners, each one of them has their own burden to carry, they are similar to him in that context. He should feel kinship with them, should find solace in their company, should stick with the social norms where all the sheep huddle together in the dark of night. Jared can’t find it in him to care, and sometimes he just wonders about that. In the few moments where he dares to contemplate his thoughts, carefully maneuvering through the muddled landscapes in hope of finding answers. Those moments are few and far in between, a treasure.

The last two present some kind of anomaly. Jeff is a tall guy, middle-aged. His whole posture screams authority; his aura projects order and command, burning like a steady flame in the dark night, and Jared can’t help but notice him, can’t help but let himself swayed by the delicious power that seems to be oozing out of Jeff’s very personality.

Jeff’s grip is firm, his palm warm, his smile sweet, sweeter than what this situation calls for. He doesn’t let go easily and Jared feels the familiar apprehension uncoiling in his guts like a serpent. Jeff winks at him and Jared can practically feel the brush of his scruff against his cheeks. Can think of a lot of other places, sensitive places where that gruff can cause burns.

“Glad to meet you, Jared,” Jeff drawls and holds Jared’s hand for a moment longer than strictly required.

_Oh, yeah. There is definitely something here._

Jared doesn’t miss a beat, smiles back without reservation. This is something he knows alright, this game is familiar territory. Jared has been playing it all of his life. It’s practically an extension of him, familiar like the back of his own hand. With renewed confidence he turns away and faces the last man.

That’s when things get weird.

**-**

Jared had always felt things more intensely. It’s both a curse and a blessing in disguise. When he was a kid he used to get this feeling, this itch. Like an invisible hand touching the back of his skull, that refused to go away until he touched it with metaphorical fingers. It was rarely absent, a low key sensation, playing out in the background like some kind of forgotten rhythm.

When Jared touched someone, when there was the honest skin-to-skin contact the sensation doubled, the intensity increased exponentially. He wasn’t doing mind-reading, of that he was sure, but he was definitely getting input. Short term memory stuff. Not really important or durable. Some images, a vague idea, a little insight into the mind of the person. Like he is seeing a shadow in a half illuminated chamber. All he got was a suggestion of things that are inside, a mere hint on the nature of those inhabitants, not concrete enough, but impossibly seductive.

He had hidden it well. The talent, if it even was a talent, was his and his alone. No one had a claim on it. Better yet, no one was interested in it. The corporations had tools that could slice and dice a brain and pick up the relevant data without even lifting a finger. Information collection and retrieval had been turned into a child’s game. So many gadgets and augments, the markets were nearly saturated with them. Augments that made you fall in love, augments that made you forget certain parts of your life, augments that let you relive some other stuff repeatedly. Augments that let you forget your miserable existence (even) for a single second.

The world didn’t need telepaths or psychics, it managed fine with the technology it had at its disposal. So it was relatively easier for Jared to hide.

When Jared touches someone, the switch flips on and he gets input. Some people hit his frequency at the first try, light up his head with their presence. Some people barely register on his radar. Some are just shadows, static or noise. But he always, always gets some input, gets the smallest insight into their mind, the data.

Until now, that is.

Until Jensen. Jensen seems to be the sole exception to the universal rule. He is the surprise element that manages to change the outcome. The outlier that refuses to fit the pattern, the data set that ends up disproving the established theory.

Well, it’s not that dramatic, naturally. But that is how Jared feels at the moment. `  
Jensen feels like nothing.

Not good, not bad, not light or dark. Not sweet or sour. Not any shade of grey. He feels like nothing. His mind is impenetrable, fathomless like an abyss. If there is a name to describe this feeling, Jared hasn’t found one, yet.

And for the first time in a long time Jared feels inadequate and vaguely excited.

He can’t help but search for his sixth sense, and when he doesn’t find it he feels incomplete. He is incomplete. He can’t assess Jensen without it. And that is wrong, somehow. Plain wrong. It’s as if Jared had suddenly lost one of his senses, has suddenly become blind.

Jensen’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes and the coldness in it is visible to the naked eye. Jared again tries to get a read on Jensen, the instinct taking over as he shakes the hand that is offered to him. Jensen slides out of the focus, slippery and treacherous. And Jared fails to suppress the sigh that escapes his lips.

_It is like that, isn’t it?_

When introductions are over, Jared gathers everyone and addresses them as a group. This is his least favorite part. Everyone is trying to be friendly, trying to follow the social conventions that dictate such meetings, but not succeeding.

“Hey, I’m Jared Padalecki and I hope you are comfortable here,” He calls in the virtual screen, manipulates the blocks in and out of existence until he reaches the appropriate ones. He waves his fingers in the air and waits for the presentation to load. The images flicker in the air, colorful and impersonal, each slide explaining the company protocols and regulations. Jared points out the details, hides the questionable ones and makes a sales pitch.

It’s not necessary, not really. These men and women already know the dangers; they have already signed the non-disclosure agreements like all good employees should do. They are hired muscle, not good enough for permanent work, but good enough for contracts, expendables.

“So we are going to work underwater?” Sophia, the redhead, asks.

“For now, we are. We are trying to study primitive lifeforms and the ocean is our best bet. Most of the land is already contaminated, spoilt and ruined to the degree that it is almost impossible to find any pure samples out here,” Jared explains.

“What about precautions? Isn’t it dangerous, down there?” Chris asks, frowning like he is trying to remember something.

Hostile, that is the word he should’ve used. The abyss, the deep sea, the ocean floor is hostile. It was not designed for human use; it is not ready for human occupation. The pressure and the darkness are enough to drive anyone mad, even if one can escape the mindless need for companionship. There are techniques that can be used to minimize the damage, the drugs that reduced the stress levels and maintained body equilibrium. They are capable of correcting the mistakes, capable of repairing the tissues with an accuracy of 99.99 percent.

It’s still not enough though. As Jared recalls, sometimes the last point one percent is what really matters. But you don’t include that in a speech designed to increase the morale of your co-workers.

Jared smiles and gives the standard answer.

“It is. But we have hormone supplements and pills to take care of that. And remember, we always wear our pressure suits, to minimize the tissue damage that can occur there. We have to be careful while we collect our specimens,” He talks smoothly, voice soothing and convincing.

“And we’ll have implants that will help us breath underwater,” Jeff says, pitching in, his tone bored, showing off. His tactic works out and others look at him with interest, caught unaware.

“Correct. We’ll have implants in our lungs and we’ll have neurochemicals to help our performance,”

“As long as we deliver results,” Gen chips in, eyes crinkling at the sides. Jared notices her dark lashes and wide mouth, imagines her smile. She must look pretty.

He smiles, choosing not to answer. Gen catches his eyes and smiles and he is right. She does look pretty when she smiles.

After debriefing Jared sits down, exhausted to the core. He could dive for hours, could live for days without tasting sunrays on his skin, and it wouldn’t be this bad. He arranges the notes in his mind, puts the scattered details in their respective files and associates the various details without delay. Something nags at him, some insistent feeling refuses to shut down and finally, finally he puts his finger on the discomfort.

Jensen hasn’t spoken a single word. Not during introductions, not afterwards, not when everyone was talking about the pros and cons of living underwater. Not when they argued good-naturedly about the merits of eating squids. He just stood there like an outsider and watched everything with cold composure. Jared can close his eyes and practically feel that green stare upon him, cool as you please and as intense as laser beams. He shivers and tries to forget.

Sleep takes a long time to come that night.

**-**

The next couples of days are spent in limbo. The crew gets poked and prodded, gets operated on, all in the name of the expedition. Security is of utmost importance. Implants go in, diveskins are tested, and people get trained. The suits are nothing less of a modern marvel. They hug the body like a second skin, move with the slightest of gestures, efficiently monitor and control body vitals. Jensen is no stranger to these things; yet, the level of technology always leaves him mesmerized. 

_Do your work and stay out of trouble,_ Danneel has instructed, and Jensen was almost offended. He always stays out of trouble, always tries to do so. One simple mistake, an honest one and now he is being sent to the most boring place on the earth. 

And the company is terrible too. But maybe Jensen can find some loopholes there, to keep him entertained. _Purgatory_ would like that. 

More importantly, Jensen would like that.

**-**


	5. Chapter 5

The abyss is just as beautiful as Jared remembered it from his dreams.  

Maybe beautiful is not the exact word, maybe there isn’t a word that can describe the abyss. Jared knows that he doesn’t know what to call it, doesn’t know how to address the pain that rises in his chest when he thinks about the depths. He cannot describe the anticipation that builds in him at the mere thought of living there, finally.  

The waters are still here, the ocean is silent. The Station hums with electricity, the machines run day and night, the only source of light in the blackness. Inside, the space is treasured; it takes power to keep this station running. It takes power and effort to build and maintain a sanctuary in the womb of the ocean, so every cubic meter is carefully designed and calculated. Everything has been stripped off to the bare essentials; every detail engineered to the last level. 

The cabins or the bunkers are high on cost -efficiency and low on comfort. The single beds are nothing special and there is barely space to stretch his muscles. Inside, the lights are low and dim, almost pleasing to the senses. The face implant **,** the mask comes equipped with low light detection sensors, so that he can see even in the near darkness. 

Jared switches off the lights. Light is contamination, unnatural, arrogant. He prefers darkness. 

The truth is that Jared feels good here. Home that is what this place is. Ocean and darkness – There isn’t any other place on the face of earth where he can be this close to them. Abyss, the lonely mass grave, the ultimate punishment a deranged mind can ever imagine, feels like his home. 

He touches his chest, fingers pointing just below the heart, searches for that place where the implant is inserted, feels the sensation of static signal travelling through the nerves. This is his lifeline, his ticket for survival in these deep waters. Now he could breathe underwater, could even survive in the abyss without the suit. He’s practically a member of the native species now. It is not advised, though. The abyss plays games with the mind. The gravity, the pressure, the chemicals are more than enough to drive someone insane. 

The prospect of losing his mind shouldn’t sound so good. But it does. 

He sleeps in the suit, feels like a baby in his mother’s arms. Safe. Protected. Cared for. 

Sleep brings the dreams with it. 

**-**                                                                 

_The house is quiet, and the boy hides. The boy is barely five, has large eyes and brown hair. Bangs fall in his eyes when he shakes his head in denial. The boy is neither skinny nor plump, just a child of indefinite origin. There is nothing that makes him different from other kids, nothing that sets him apart in a crowd. A normal child, who has trusting eyes and a beautiful smile, his eyes are too trusting for his own good. Jared knows this now._

_Jared watches the child. He’s an observer here, an outsider, unable to interfere. The boy hides under the bed; eyes shut tight, fingers rolled into a tight fist making imprints on the soft skin of his palm. The boy waits._

_After a long time, maybe after a very long time, the boy loosens his grip. Cautiously he opens his eyes, looks out, searches for something hidden in shadows. The light is dim, and it fails to illuminate the entire room. The curtains cast shadows on walls, the wind gives them life. Somehow the boy knows about monsters. And he is certain that one of them is behind those curtains, waiting for the opportunity to strike him, waiting for a chance. The shadows are there as a distraction, the curtains are the real culprits._

_The doorknob turns and his mother comes in. Her face is spilt in a smile, her scent is mixed with love and she looks for him. She frowns when she can’t find him. He comes out of his hiding place, feeling safe._

_“Mom,” He says to the smiling woman,_

_“There is a monster in my room,” he complains, like all children do when they have a problem with how things are._

_“Monsters are not real, baby,” she tells him._

_The boy cannot believe her. She could be telling the truth, but somehow he knows that she isn’t. She sees the fear in his eyes and sits on the bed._

_“Come here, sweety,” she says and takes the doubtful child in her arms. Together they go to open the closet. And there is nothing inside there; just some clothes. The boy knows this. The monster is in the shadows._

_When he repeats that, she only looks at him with disappointment._

_“See for yourself. There is nothing behind those curtains,” she takes him by hand and shows him and true to her word, the place behind the curtains is empty. She looks at him like the boy was lying all the time. It makes him feel small. His face reddens with embarrassment. He tries one more time._

_“But mom, the shadows were moving. I saw them,” The convention in his voice is gone now. He is only trying to put a front to save face. He is going to be six soon, going to be a big boy. He doesn’t want to sound like a coward but the shadows frighten him. They do._

_“No baby. See, there is nothing there. You can keep the lights on if you want. But there are no monsters anywhere,” she tells again, voice tired and face pinched. Now he has no choice but to agree with her._

_“Good night, sweetie,” she kisses him on cheek, kisses him on temple before leaving the room. The boy sleeps with covers drawn tight, not wanting to watch the shadows._

_I’m an idiot, is his last conscious thought before sleep takes him. There are no monsters._

The dream stops there, abruptly, and Jared wakes up. He remembers everything this time, and the last words ring in his ears for a long time. 

There are no monsters. And Jared would do well if he can bring himself to believe that.


	6. Chapter 6

The initial excitement dies down as the residents of the Station adjust to their new lives. There is barely any activity apart from picking up the samples. Jared supervises everyone, organizes search parties whenever someone is not on time, takes on and wears the authority like it was specifically made for him. 

The rules of the game are simple. Deceptively so. You go outside, you observe the local wild-life, you try to find some samples, usually some bacteria or microbes. With the help of the technology the abyss lies bare in front of them, stripped of any darkness, finally naked under their glances. 

The wildlife is unlike anything they have seen before. The giant squids crawl across the ocean floor; unnamable monsters crowd the waters. The blind catfishes circle them, hopelessly searching for food. They eat anything and everything, they wait for the debris to come and settle. These are the ultimate scavengers. 

And the abyss is ripe with the likes of them. 

The crew is not defenseless, they carry weapons with them. Weapons that can inflict considerable damage when used, weapons that can even kill if needed. They establish a territory with the help of these toys, in the heart of the darkness, successfully. 

Jared prefers to stay outside. The giant squid is fascinating to watch and starfish love him. It certainly feels like that, in any case.

“We have to go inside. It is getting late,” Sophia is saying in a worried voice. Jared feels the laugher bubbling in his chest at the sentiment _. We should go inside before the dark, or monsters will eat us_. Like they are the characters in a fairy tale. It really is very funny. 

Here there is no day or night. Their system is thoroughly screwed up, jumbled. Just like Jared is. That is why Jared is at home here.

“So what? It is not like we are on the clock here,” he says, and meets Sophia’s eyes. The face plant masks the true color and dark pupils greet him. It could be spooky, but it isn’t. He finds it easier to meet those expressionless dark eyes, prefers it to the real deal. 

Once inside, Jared puts the samples in the lab. The lab is the only place where the lights are really bright so he always tries to spend the least amount of time there as possible. They don’t do any advanced work here, they aren’t qualified enough for that and the lab isn’t sophisticated enough. They have a basic set-up and the grunts to do the work of identifying and classifying the microbes. 

He carefully places the plastic container inside the machine and waits for the results. The data gets fed in the computer and then gets saved in the main server. This is routine. It doesn’t change unless they find something new. 

And he waits for the light. The beep comes along with the green light. So the sample isn’t new or anything like that. He sighs and gets out. 

A corridor separates the lab and the bunkers. It is wide enough to be called as a hall, and a couple of chairs are there, almost like a drawing room. The team uses this place as their meeting spot. 

Jared checks the time. It’s already late. He is exhausted. His eyelids droop and his body wants sleep. No, it needs sleep. Outside, he floats in the water, but that can’t possibly be compared to real sleep. 

Jeff is there, apparently waiting for him. Jared’s heart does a somersault in his chest. The guilt starts creeping in even before he starts speaking. 

“Hey,” He says in a breathy voice. His body is working on autopilot, flirting automatically. 

“Hey, there” Jeff says and Jared again feels the rush in his veins, imagines the things that could be. He can’t help it, can’t stop the thoughts from entering his mind. He knows that he is in good shape, and Jeff’s eyes undress him without much fanfare. Jared stands still, not sure of his next move. Jeff does it for him. 

“I’m not that old,” He says, almost casually, too casually. Jared catches the bitterness in his voice and frowns. 

“Huh,” He says eloquently. 

Jeff winks at him and continues speaking. 

“I’m not nearly old enough to be your father. Not really. You get that right?” He closes the distance between them, and invades Jared’s personal space. His voice is low and gruff, his face too close to Jared’s own, his breath sending shivers throughout Jared’s body. 

Jared feels the old grudges coming up. Feels the ancient fears surround him and closing him in. Suddenly his lungs contract in themselves and he can’t find any breath. The filtered air seems inadequate, sterile. He is in one of the dreams now, an observer, a pawn. He pushes Jeff away and runs inside.

 **-**                                                                                

_It is true then, isn’t it? It is really branded on his forehead; it is clearly visible to everyone. They all see him and they all instantly come to know what he is. They all know how he is asking for it, really._

_The mother is not in the house. She is not there, and the boy doesn’t know where she has gone. She said that she will come back in a week. A week is not a very long time; the boy’s been told before. He waits for her to come back. Meanwhile the father takes care of him._

_The father has a beard and blue eyes. He cooks breakfast and dinner for the boy. The boy helps to set the table. They eat together while the boy’s father talks about stuff. The boy talks about things too. Like about the new videogame or the neighbor’s cat. The boy’s father listens with impatient eyes._

_After dinner, the boy retreats to his bedroom. Plays with his toys. Browses the web and watches some cartoons. Laughs aloud when the cat chases a mouse, laughs until the tears fill his eyes. His father comes in just before the clock strikes nine p.m._

_The boy brightens up, his father is good at storytelling, and the boy loves to listen to them. The stories have princes and princesses. They even feature horses. The boy loves to hear about horses. He wants to own one when he grows up. All the heroes own a horse, and boy wants to be hero._

_“There won’t be any horses left around by the time you grow up,” The father sounds sad, his voice carrying in the night. The boy frowns._

_The father’s holding a book. He prefers to read from that. He says that these are better than the instant ones they see online. The book smells old, and the boy can smell the paper. The web offers variety; the stories are depicted more delicately there, with better quality. But the boy likes the way the old book smells._

_His father starts reading. His voice is steady and calming and the boy listens with apt concentration. Listens to the tale of magic and sorcery, lost in the narrative. The story isn’t extraordinary, but it is very good. The king is old and princess is fair. The prince is brave and a curse is set. The boy listens as the story proceeds. The princess is dead. No, the boy thinks again. No she is not dead. She is just asleep. She is asleep and waiting for her prince, in the royal chambers._

_The boy thinks about the prince. He wants to be a prince, too. He wants to be brave. He wants to rescue the princess. He wants to slay the dragon._

_“There are no dragons in this story, son.” The father chuckles, his fingers caressing his son’s brow. The boy pouts; of course he knows about that, there is no need to speak to him like that._

_“Come here, sit on my lap,” The father says. And the boy leans in, moves to sit on his lap._

_From his position, the boy cannot see the bulge in man’s shorts, cannot sense the dirty-bad-wrong thoughts that run in the man’s mind. Jared, on the other hand can clearly see it. And Jared wants to shout at the boy, he wants to stop him, wants to warn him of the danger. But Jared has no voice, here. He is defenseless. Just like the boy would be now._

_Jared has no voice. And the boy sits on the man’s—his father’s—lap._

_The man rocks and rubs against the child, shifts positions until he can find the release he was searching for so mindlessly. After a while the bitter smell of sex fills the room. The father’s lips are bitten raw, his eyes are half-closed in ecstasy, and only Jared witnesses this._

_The little boy doesn’t notice the sticky substance that covers his lower half; he sleeps with a smile on his face, assured that his father will banish any monsters that dare to enter this sanctuary._

_The monsters don’t bother him that night._

_**-**_


	7. Chapter 7

There is no way to differentiate the night from the day, but Jared’s biological clock wakes him up without failing regardless. Six hours sleep is what he needs, six hours is what he gets. He feels rested. 

There is a disturbance. Jared hears loud words, curses. He hurries along to investigate the source of it. 

Chris and Chad are fighting. By the time Jared reaches there, it’s already escalating. 

“You motherfucker,” Chad shouts. His nose is broken, bleeding. His words are slurred. 

Chris stands tall. Despite the shaking hands, he is ready to fight. 

“You deserved this. You were asking for it.” 

Jared watches Chris, watches the latest hit. Sees the blood flowing. But all his senses are focused on the last sentence; the words stab him in the gut even before he consciously processes the meaning. He knows these words. He has heard them before. He just can’t remember the context in which they were spoken. Nevertheless, he stands there like a mannequin, frozen. He knows that he should do something now, probably should interfere. 

He doesn’t. 

“What?” Chad sounds confused. He looks around and when his eyes meet Jared’s the naked plea in them is clearly visible. Jared stares back. 

“You like little kids, don’t you? Don’t you?” Chris punctuates each word with a hit. He speaks next words in fevered tone. 

“You like little kids. I know now. I saw your file. I know what you do to them. You lure them and you ruin them. You are disgusting. You are evil. You deserve this.” Chris keeps on pounding, almost lost in his narration. Jared watches, fascinated.

Chad starts crying. He sobs and tries to curl up in a ball, a bad move. Chris wouldn’t stop until he is satisfied and Chad is only making it worse by protesting. 

He turns around and catches Jensen at the door, standing still as a silent shadow. Jensen, who watches but never speaks until it is necessary, Jensen who is just there like an anomaly, Jensen who feels like nothing. Jensen is there, watching Jared’s every move with the practiced disinterest. Something inside Jared snaps, wants to show-off, wants to prove something. 

He moves from his place, assumes command of the situation. 

“Stop it,” He says, shouts. Jensen is watching him that thought runs inside his head in a loop, dictating his actions. 

“Stop it. You are killing him,” Pushes Chris aside and kneels down to check Chad’s pulse. Chad looks so small like this, balled up in fetal position and shivering like an animal in danger. His eyes are unnaturally wild. Jared knows the broken quality of that look from his dreams.

_It’s going to be difficult now. Jared knows._  

“I didn’t, I didn’t. I didn’t.” Chad twists like a captured snake, recoils from Jared’s touch.   

Chris refuses to meet the accusation in Jared’s eyes. His shoulders are still set and his posture is combative, but neither of them masks the tear streaks on his cheeks. Jared doesn’t know the reason behind those tears, though. He grunts and half-carries Chad inside while thinking of the blood on the stark white sheets.

He dumps Chad in his bunker and comes out. Jensen is there, waiting for him. 

“You did well,” he says. 

Jared snorts. 

“You could have helped me,” He states the obvious. 

Jensen’s lips twist in a smile that makes him look impossibly young. For a very brief moment Jared sees someone else in the place of this cold-eyed stranger. The mirage vanishes before he could commit it to his memory. 

“Don’t stay out for long. It will mess with your head,” Jensen says almost hesitantly. 

Jared offers a smile before leaving.

 **-**

_The boy is sleeping. He looks good like this, peaceful and beautiful, like a little angel. Jared watches from the sides. Watches his eyelids dance behind his lashes, watches the small body relax in deep slumber. He feels an involuntary smile on his face at the sight._  

_The wind has died and the sky is calm. The shadows don’t dance on the floor anymore, they are stable. Jared stays for one more second, content. The happiness he feels is alien, it belongs to a child._

_The door opens again, without making a sound. Someone comes in silently. The footsteps fall on expensive Persian rugs (imported ones, Jared just knows). The sound is absorbed by the walls, or so it seems. There is no noise._

_The man—the father—comes near the bed. He stands there for several minutes, intently watching the sleeping boy. His wife is not in the house, Jared recalls. His wife is not there and the man is too invested in the boy. Jared watches as the man bends down to kiss the boy’s temple, the sweetness of this gesture somehow perverted by the earlier event._

_There is still time, Jared thinks. Turn around and go, he says. The man can stop and get out now and nothing will happen. No one would be wiser._

_But the man doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop at temple. Kisses the eyes and nose, kisses the delicate pink lips. The boy sleeps like dead. He is unaware of the constant attention that is being bestowed upon him. Jared hopes that he remains so for the remainder of this sick, sick dance even when he knows that it is unlikely to happen._

_The boy wakes up when the man’s fingers grip his hipbones too tightly. The skin there is fragile and it easily reddens under the attention. The boy wakes up and sees the hungry eyes of the monster in front of him in the half-shadowed room._

_The father looks like a monster now. Jared can see it in the red, red eyes and clawed hands. The boy sees it too, flinching and struggling in panic. The boy was dreaming of good things, was dreaming of white horses and fairy tales, and reality startles him._

_“Daddy, what are you doing?” he says, words almost a whisper. Wants to ask something else, forgets._

_“Shh,” The father says, covers the boy’s mouth with his clawed hands._

_“Keep quiet,” the father- the man- the monster-orders in a hushed tone._

_The boy gets confused. He’s supposed to listen to his father, which is what mom says, that is what teachers say. But this order is something he cannot understand._

_“You want this, you’ll like this, I promise,” The man speaks in a monotone. His hands are strong and they easily flip the boy on his stomach. The boy waits to hear his father’s laugher. Maybe this is the newest game, they are playing. Maybe this is one of those pranks he heard so much about in the school. He remembers to ask something in time._

_“Daddy? Why are you taking my pants off?” His voice is so small, very small._

_The pain hits him out of where. This is nothing like he has encountered before. The boy remembers scraping his hands, his knees before, and it had hurt. But it hadn’t hurt like this, not at all. This pain is white-hot, it hurts_ badly _._

_The man starts moving, holding boy’s arms in an iron grip, panting like an animal in heat. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t stop. The boy stays still, praying for this game to stop, praying for his father to stop._

_Maybe if he stays still it won’t be so bad. Maybe it will be over soon._

_The pillow is soft and white and he hides his face in there, biting into it to stop the groans that threaten to escape his lips. He sobs and cries, his tears flowing freely. His sobs are in time, perfectly, with the man’s grunts. And each push invokes another jolt of pain in his body, all fresh agony._

_“Don’t you dare make a sound,” the man says again and Jared, stunned and watching, thinks of whys. There is no one here, no one who can see and tell, so he doesn’t get the need for secrecy. The mother is not there and the neighbors just don’t care._

_The boy thinks of monsters now. He was right. Monsters are real. One of them is here, now. It was waiting for its chance, watching from the shadows. Now it caught him. And he can see the claws and fangs; he can see the ugly yellow teeth. The monster is here and he is in danger._

_The monster already has him at his mercy. The boy realizes._

_The monster’s grunts stop. He pulls out and turns the boy on his back. The boy flinches again, keeps his eyes shut tightly, scared of opening them and seeing the monster here, waits for the monster to go away. It doesn’t leave him, though. It speaks through clipped teeth, voice harsh._  

_“You asked for this, remember,” it says again and slaps him once on the cheek. The boy opens his eyes and sees the monster, sees the wrinkled skin and darkened teeth, and recoils at the sight of it. The foul, rotten odor fills the room. The ugly creature smiles at him with naked glee._  

_That night, after this incident the monster leaves him alone. The boy waits for it to come back. Knows that it will come back, knows that it has him cornered now._

_Jared watches. Now he is the boy, feels the raw pain in his body, feels the broken edge of his psyche inside his own mind. Now he is the father, feels the pleasure of fucking a tight, tight channel, feels the power behind this act. But mostly he is the shadow, watching without doing anything._

_The boy must have been asking for it, he thinks. The man believes that, the boy believes that and by rule of thumb, Jared should believe in it too. Maybe the boy was asking for it, and he got what he really deserved at the end._

_That is the easiest assessment, that is the best assessment, and Jared likes the uncomplicatedness of it._

_**-**_

This time, Jared seeks him out.

Jeff is bent over a piece of lab equipment, working on something. Jared clears his throat loudly hoping to attract the attention. He’s soon awarded. 

Jeff straightens up and stalks toward Jared. He’s trying to emulate that tried and tested ‘I don’t care at all’- vibe and is not succeeding very much. Jared can see that he cares, can sense the underlying current of emotions from the guy and he suppresses a laugh. Poor Jeffy, he thinks. 

“Why are you laughing?” Jeff asks and Jared remembers to adjust the smile that lights up his entire face. 

“Nothing,” he says casually. 

His posture is anything but casual. Tilted hips, open lips, suggestive smirk. The invitation is blatant. 

And Jeff doesn’t need that invitation in the first place. He doesn’t waste time with preliminaries; comes straight to the point. Catches Jared unaware and kisses him squarely on the lips. Jared wants him, oh how he wants him. 

No, that is not right. Jared doesn’t want him, not really. But, he needs him. That is the word that describes this situation perfectly. He needs the pain, needs the humiliation, needs the high that he can get from the pain that will threaten to drown him. He needs it like he needs his next breath. 

And there is no one else here who can satisfy those twisted needs like Jeff can do. No one old enough to remind him of his father, no one who feels like his father did. All others are wired wrong. 

“Come on, come on,” he chants, begs, urges Jeff to move faster. 

His diveskin comes off easily, and for the first time in days Jared sees his own naked skin. His tan is gone and now he looks different, his flesh pale, a creature from outer space. His skin glistens with sweat, exposed. Jared resists the urge to trace the scars with his fingertips, waits. He shivers under the hungry stare that ravishes him, trembles under the hands that roam over his body with the urgency that can only be satisfied after a fuck. Jared shivers and surrenders, watches through slightly open eyes. 

Jeff is good looking. He’s appropriately muscled in all the right places. He doesn’t look like Jared’s father here. Under the clothes he is fit, and the pouch is missing. When he kisses Jared his breath smells of peppermint. Not stale, not stale at all. 

Jared feels like crying, feels the unshed tear stinging in his eyes. This was close, so close. And he had thought that Jeff was enough. 

Jeff touches him with care, doesn’t flip him over on his stomach and show him his place. Doesn’t take him by force, but asks for permission. Waits for responses, takes cues from Jared’s body language before continuing. His hands are not clawed at the end; his teeth are not yellowed out husks. His eyes are not red pin points. They are a warm hazel. And Jared hates them. 

Jeff stops him with a single push, waits till Jared stills and speaks. 

“Let it go, Jared,” His voice flows steadily. “Let it go. I’m not your father. You don’t have to do this,” He says again. 

Thing is Jared wants it like this. No, he needs it like this. Because this is what he deserves, because he is asking for it. This is the thing that happens to the kids who don’t listen to their elders. This is what people like Jared deserves. He can’t live without this, not now, not ever. 

He changes tactics. Spreads his legs further, fists his cock lazily, and bites his lips until they turn red. 

“I know you want it, don’t you lie to me,” he says slowly, looking into Jeff’s eyes. Hazel meeting hazel and a shiver runs through Jeff’s body. 

“I’m yours. Take me however you want me, unless...” Jared frowns before continuing further. “Don’t you want me? Am I not good enough?” 

Jeff breaks down with that, swoops down and kisses Jared with murmurs, saying stupid things under his breath. “No, no I want you, can’t you see? “ He whispers the words in Jared’s skin. 

Jeff is not very rough, but he is just enough. Jared clutches the pillow with his hands and waits for the inevitable combination of pain-pleasure. When Jeff forces his way inside, Jared is still dry, still virgin tight. Jared grunts and moans, likes the way his cock feels going in. It burns, and there is going to be blood there. Jared can feel that. 

Jeff fucks him like that, pushing in and pulling out, rhythmic. Jared feels the drag of his cock at every turn, feels the hand on his shoulders, tightly holding him. Like this he can’t move, can’t move at all, not even to get away. He’s at Jeff’s mercy. Like this, he is a ragdoll without any responsibility. Just being there and asking for it. He’s waiting for it to happen with his slutty hands and his slutty body. 

In his mind he sees the monster. He’s getting signals from Jeff, picking up little glimpses inside his mind. Lust is easily identifiable. Lust and arousal mask everything else as Jeff’s entire person focuses on Jared. On getting what he needs from Jared. In these moments Jeff becomes just another cock, another man, another monster. They all think same; they all want the same things from him. They are all same from inside. All of them feel like his father. 

Jared sobs in the pillow, relives the horror again and again until there is nothing left to give. 

Jeff is trying to make it good for him, at least on a surface level. But Jared knows that it can never be good, can never be better than this. He is getting constant feedback from Jeff, and Jeff’s emotions do not match his actions. He wants his pleasure, first and foremost. Jared is an afterthought. 

When it is over, when Jeff has emptied in the condom and Jared is still hard, the lights switch on. Jared turns his head, lifts and sees Jensen at the door. He could be a shadow; he looks so frail from here, more like an illusion than a person. And he disappears in a moment, leaving Jared to wonder about his sanity. 

Jeff slips out of him, the sound obscene and repulsive. Now Jared doesn’t want him, doesn’t want to stay near this man for a second more than strictly required. Jared has had his fill, and he is sated for the time being. Jeff is old news now, like a used paper plate filled with stale food. Jared has had his meal, and it was not very good. Now he doesn’t want to see the evidence scattered around like used napkins. 

Jeff doesn’t take the hint. 

“Hey,” He says, face spread in a dopey smile. Eyes half-mast and voice smooth. 

“I have to go,” Jared replies. 

Jeff’s weight on his back is not welcome now, and Jared wants to get it off him as soon as possible. 

“Move,” he turns around and pushes Jeff away easily. Intellectually he knows that he is stronger than Jeff, and this action shows him that. He lets Jeff know who is calling the shots here, if there is something like that in the first place. 

“I take it that you are not a pillow-talker,” Jeff grunts, face scrunched up in annoyance. 

 “No. Just a biter,” Jared replies, almost on autopilot. 

“You sure are cuddly after sex,” Jeff says. 

Jared flips him the bird and leaves the lab.

His ass hurts when he walks, his body feels raw, feels used up. The monster caught him, finally, and there was no prince to rescue him. Worse, he searches for monsters every day. Wants the pain they can give him, seeks them out.

These thoughts hurt his head. And they are no use to him, not in the long run. 

For now, he is content. The afterglow of the sex is still on him and he is still high from it. 

He can deal with other issues later.

**-**


	8. Chapter 8

The confrontation with Chris has left Chad useless. As it was, he hadn’t been the brightest bulb in the bunch, but now he is practically insane. He sits around, stares with an empty glare, and refuses to talk to anyone. Sometimes, he mutters some insensible words in a complicated manner, as if he’s performing a ritual. He closes his fingers and makes a fist, opens them and laughs. Names his fingers and talks to the air. Jared listens to him out of curiosity. 

“He made me do it. I didn’t want to, I didn’t want to.” 

He speaks in tongues, uses words from half-a-dozen languages across the globe. Jared doesn’t get meaning of them all and he has no real interest in Chad’s flight. Everyone in this place is cursed; each of them has their own burden to carry. Still Jared feels some kind of responsibility toward Chad. 

The one you save and all that shit. It’s apparently true.Jared feels strangely responsible for him. It’s a little funny. 

Chad’s taken to following him. When Jared goes outside, Chad follows him like a puppy lost in a crowd. He’s there in body only; Jared can see him drifting every day. Slowly he starts spending more time outside. Jared can see the attraction the abyss offers. The water embraces, accepts without judgement. The creatures that dwell these waters are already freaks. An addition would be welcomed with open arms. 

With each passing day Chad’s mental health deteriorates in an alarming rate. He starts seeing things in the walls, starts having panic attacks. He says strangest of the things, claims that the walls have been covered with small sneaky eyes. 

After each of his fits he runs outside and refuses to come inside. He floats around the Station, like a lost toy left on the beach. Circles the Station and plays with everything that swims there.                                         

 **-**                           

Jensen is bored. 

Bored, bored, bored. 

He’s bored of this place, bored of this assignment, bored of all the drama surrounding the Station. 

In plain words, he’s bored of everything. 

He’s doing all the things that are asked of him. Every day he searches and collects the samples, returns to the station and disposes the useless data. He keeps track of everything that goes on around, becomes the eyes and ears for the company in this place. He makes weekly reports. Pretties them up and sends them to Danneel. She hasn’t asked for any kind of clarification. She hasn’t asked for any extra information either. Still, he does it. 

There are no loopholes here. No security breaches that need to be closed off, no loose ends to tie up. That is what really bugging him. He’s wasting his time, spending his days and night like a little mouse holed into the earth. Sitting duck, that is what he is. And it is dangerous. 

_Purgatory_ keeps him on the leash. It runs inside him, commands a certain respect by the very nature. He is not a junkie. He doesn’t need his hit every few days. _Purgatory_ is too sophisticated for that. It sits in his blood, and regenerates in every few days. Uses his own blood cells and manipulates his neurons. Fools his brain, fools his defense system. 

They did give some award to the guy who invented that shit. Perhaps it was a Nobel, perhaps it was something else. Jensen thinks it is very well deserved. When all is said and done, _Purgatory_ does the job perfectly. 

Sure, he’d like a little free will in his decision making process, a little leniency in the way it operates. Sometimes _Purgatory_ grips him too hard, makes him do things he would rather not do on his own volition. Sometimes the ropes are too tight around his shoulders, the chains unbreakable. Intellectually he knows the rules, knows the reasons. But knowing and understanding a motive doesn’t excuse the crime. The intentions do not matter. What does is what you have ended up actually doing. 

_Purgatory_ is a miracle drug. More sophisticated and perfect than any of its counterparts. Yet, it is not helpful in this situation. 

As always, Jensen’s imagination works overtime when he has no work to do. It’s both a gift and a curse, but it’s better than sitting and staring at abyss. 

He can see the reasons. He can trace back the algorithms in his mind. He can follow the paths that lead to this conclusion, this final destination. He does exactly that. He traverses through a thousand paths until he knows each and every one of them in intimate detail. 

You are a corporation. You are so big that you pretty much own the planet. You have huge amount of resources at your disposal. Yet, you aren’t happy with what you’ve got, because you’ve got problems, just like everyone else. The bigger you are, the more enemies you’ve got. In this case that means you have a lot of people gunning for you. You have realists, you have back-stabbers, and you have plain old trouble makers. You can take care of them, you are capable of taking care of them, but sometimes you just feel lazy. Wasting resources and manpower on some fools is not your agenda. 

You are trying to make money. That is your primary goal-the golden rule that governs all your actions. You are trying to make the society better by redistributing the wealth-that is what you say in your vision statement. Beyond that you are not interested in making trouble; any unfortunate incidents are just collateral damage. You aren’t responsible for any of that, not really. 

You get a tip. You get an awesome tip. There is something there, in the ocean, under those volatile waters. Something huge, something that has the potential to rearrange the way you do business. Like a shark you get attracted by the scent of this new blood, this new idea. You need the information today. Hell, you need the data yesterday. But you can’t let anyone else in on your secret. You don’t want competition in this one thing. You have got plenty of that above ground. 

So you come up with the optimal solution. You ask your fancy AI’s, you feed the data to them and wait until they do all the messy calculations. After a lot of waiting and wasted computational power (never mind the probability curves that can screw you over the insignificant details) you get your answer. You get advice from these little machines, and follow that advice for all you’re worth.

But machines are not enough. They never are. You’ve learned that hard way in the past. Correlation and causation, you can’t say which is which, when you are dealing with a machine. You don’t know if the AI that speaks to you has a conscience or not. You don’t have the ability to govern the emergent behavior in them, not yet, and this is not a time when you can leave things for the chance. 

So, you send people down there to do your bidding. You send prototypes. You choose them out of available options, aware of consequences at every little step. You can’t compromise on quality, you need capable ones. But that is not the problem. There is one more little detail that needs to be considered. 

The ocean floor is not an easy place to settle down. Humans were never supposed to go there, as some realists tend to argue. The environment is lethal, it messes with human biology. First the body breaks down. The pressure, the lack of oxygen, the scarcity of resources kills the body. It is relatively hassle free to fix that though, you can change the way body operates, you can insert new functions, you can disable the regular ones if you know how to hack it. You can use implants that help people survive underwater. You can place augments that lets them see in no light. You can do a lot of things to upgrade the hardware and the system will work just fine. These men and women, part cyborg and part human, will learn to survive, will learn to strive. 

However the mind is a completely different matter. The mind doesn’t break as quickly as the body does, but with time even that will break down and shatter like cheap glassware. The harsh reality induces stress in the healthiest specimens and there are a thousand ways this could go wrong. And you don’t want that. You want your assets to work hard, you want them functioning. 

Turns out—and Jensen thinks about this part with something resembling fondness. He stays outside, just drifting in the water, almost meditating. The irony never seems to leave him. 

There are people who are already equipped with the tools to handle this kind of stress. Statistically speaking, that is. The children who came from nice households, the ones that had almost perfect childhoods don’t seem to be great at handling stress. So when the scene changes and new variables are introduced, the well-adjusted types break down. They are just not very good at handling stress, it seeps up and takes root in their hearts and scares them outright. With time and patience they can be trained to handle the excess stress. With luck they will learn the ropes of dealing with new situations. But they are not the ideal candidates for this kind of mission. Training them would be a waste of time and effort. There is no sense in teaching a cat to fly when you have lots of pigeons at your disposal. 

And sociopaths, a voice that sounds suspiciously like _Purgatory_ speaks in his head. Don’t forget sociopaths. They are great at stress-control too. 

In theory. 

The survivors are the best bet for this kind of mission. The survivors have the ability to deal with extremely crappy situation without losing their marbles. They might have PSTD, they might have less than healthy habits, but they also know how to fight, how not to give up. When one has seen everything there is to see, when one has survived under the threat of rape or death for extended periods of time, when one has watched his own family getting ripped apart and tossed in a fire without losing his sanity -the chances are that he could do well underwater. 

That is all there is. Theories, probabilities, normalization curves and statistical data, analyzed. But it is what the thinks-tanks advised and as far as corporations are considered it is the truth. 

So you gather the damaged people, you gather prototypes and send them equipped with all the latest technology you could get in your hands at the moment. You send rape-survivors, you send abuse victims, you send wife-beaters and you send sociopaths with zero guilt factor. You put the bunch of misfits down there in the abyss and wait for the results. 

Jensen can give credit where it is due. It is a pretty neat idea. It sounds wonderful on paper. Nobody would think twice about an expedition whose sole purpose is research.

It all looks good to him. Although a thought nags at him, makes him slightly anxious in increasingly irregular intervals. Barges in, and makes him sweat with the implications. 

_Why him? What purpose he could serve here?_

He doesn’t need a shrink to tell him about what he is, doesn’t need a therapist to pinpoint his issues. He is what he is and he has already made peace with that part of himself. He can’t change his nature, can’t lock in that part of his psyche which asks for blood even with the help of Purgatory. 

The obvious answer is not always the correct one. And if he is not acting in the capacity of hired muscle, he doesn’t know what else to do. He hates not knowing the answers. 

Sometimes, he sleeps outside, haunts the waters that surround the Station.

**-**


	9. Chapter 9

As the days pass the monotony sets in and Jared gets adjusted. His muscles memorize every movement, his mind likes the routine, gets used to the things happening in a particular way. He likes the pattern, likes the mundane quality of things. 

The thing with Jeff—Jared cannot name it, not even in his thoughts. Whatever they have between them is complicated, to say the least. To Jared, Jeff is just a means to an end, a device more than a person. To Jared, the sex is nothing more than a drug that needs to be supplied when required, a distraction, and a penance. To Jared, sex is incredibly simple even when it is complicated. 

He suspects that Jeff doesn’t feel the same. At first, Jeff had tried talking, tried naming the thing that was there between them. Jared shot down his efforts at communication, every single time. Now, Jeff doesn’t talk much, not when they fuck, not afterwards. It’s as if he doesn’t even want to try anymore. 

And Jared is perfectly okay with that. He never stays if he can manage to get away. After the fuck, he doesn’t want to lie there watching Jeff’s limp dick, doesn’t look forward to the prospect at all. Most of all, he doesn’t want to listen to the sappy thoughts that Jeff entertains post-fucking. To Jared they feel like blasphemy, for he is already damned. 

The sex is good, he supposes. Jeff is a good lover, one of the best Jared had in recent years. He is naïve in some aspects and Jared had to train him. He doesn’t mind, likes it when Jeff obeys without question. But he likes it more when he doesn’t. 

They are trying bondage this time. Jared’s hands are tied together and his legs are spread apart. Despite his height and strength, he is helpless like this, at the mercy of another, as defenseless as a little kid. The thought make him shiver in anticipation, in fear. Sweat glistens on his bare skin like molten lava. 

He’s still wearing his face plant- the mask. For some reason he can’t let it go, not even in the midst of this intimate act. He’s naked everywhere, but as long as the face plant is there, he feels secure. It’s contradictory to say the least but, that is how his mind works. 

Jeff won’t be able to see his face like this. Hell, he won’t be able to see the color of Jared’s eyes with the mask on. That is another reason that dictates Jared’s actions. 

Jeff comments on that. Seems like he misses nothing of importance and Jared is weirdly proud of him for that. 

“It’s creepy, you know, your eyes.” 

And Jared gets what he is saying. He totally does. Beneath the transparent mask his eyes are opaque; the eye-cap holds them in place, resulting in a wide-eyed blank stare. He’s completely naked. Spread on the bed like an offering, but, he is still not completely under Jeff’s mercy. Not when he has this part of himself untouched. 

“Get on with it. You are wasting time.” He orders, not choosing to reply to the previous observation. 

Jeff fucks him hard, too hard. Perhaps it is the punishment for not ditching the mask, perhaps it is something else. Jared doesn’t complain, lies there and takes it like a good bitch should. 

It’s good that the eye-caps are still on, because, otherwise he would have cried. It’s impossible to shed tears when your eyes are held open like that. 

Jeff’s pace is brutal and his nails scratch in all the sensitive places. Jared’s body seethes with the kinetic energy, each thrust powerful enough to send him bumping all over the cot. Jared keeps up with him, takes cock like he was made for it, like he was trained for taking it. His mouth opens in a silent scream, no words come out. When he comes, one thought occupies his mind, swallows up his entire being for those few moments. Monsters are real, monsters are real- it rings inside his skull. 

“That was good,” He says afterwards, still panting. 

And it was good. That is the truth. Jared doesn’t let the words fall from his mouth but he feels the shape of them on his tongue. Rape, this was almost similar to that. He doesn’t want to make Jeff any more uncomfortable than he already is. He knows that Jeff is thinking the same thing, probably. He doesn’t look for the confirmation. 

“I aim to please,” Jeff says all cocky. 

“What brought that on?” Jared asks, somewhat curious. 

“Nothing, Just felt like it,” Jeff replies and that is that, pillow talk’s over. 

Jared puts on the diveskin, and becomes another dark silhouette that haunts the Station.                          

_**-**_

_The mornings are the worst._

_The boy knows this by experience now._

_The nights are filled with anticipation, with terror, but they are manageable too, by now the boy knows what to expect every night. Although the visits do not follow any established patterns, some nights are relatively better than others. Some nights are monster-less. Some nights are painless._

_Most of them are not . Most nights are filled with silent tears and swallowed sobs, and the boy’s pillow has a lot of bite marks. Little teeth-shaped indentations in the soft cotton made under extreme duress. His sheets seem to have assumed that awful smell—they smell like monster now._

_The sheets are ruined, just like the little boy is._

_The mother doesn’t notice. She denies his claims, says that there are no monsters. She scolds him for making up stories. She listens to him in her more charitable moments and praises him for having a good imagination. But, mostly, she tells him to stop making up stories. The boy isn’t supposed to do that. Good children don’t do that. Once or twice she calls his father and both of them search under the bed, behind the curtains, to assure boy of the truth._

_There are a lot of things that escape her attention._

_She fails to notice the teeth marks on the pillows. She doesn’t catch the rotten smell that has made a home in the boy’s room lately. She overlooks the purple marks on his ashen skin or the dark circles under his pale eyes. She fails to see the slight limp that has lately creep up in the boy’s gait._

_There is dried blood on the white sheets. It is just ridiculous. How can she fail to notice that?_

_Jared doesn’t know._

_And Jared watches, or participates actively, depending on the dream. Sometimes he is the boy, and he suffers, feels the old wounds reopen with an intensity that terrifies him. Sometimes he is there as a witness taking it all in, stumbling across the confusing memories, observing with impersonal eyes. Each dream is uglier than its predecessor, each one more painful even when viewed with impersonal eyes. And Jared cannot be impersonal. Not really._

_The mother overlooks all the cues and shuts down the boy when he attempts to speak. Smiles sweetly and changes the subject. Jared thinks she is hiding something._

_At best she is guilty of carelessness. At worst she is guilty of being an accomplice._

_Jared thinks it is the latter. Bile rises in his throat at the thought, and he swallows it down. He never thought that he had it in him to get upset over this subject. After all these years it just seems so impossible to care anymore. But evidently he was not as immune as he thought._

_The mother doesn’t care about the boy, and the father cares too much. A classic situation._

_The mornings are the worst._

_The boy wakes up and shrugs off the bad dreams. He washes rigorously, scrubbing every inch of his body with warm water while trying to get clean. He can never get it done properly. Some of the dirt always remains, accumulated over the period of the last few hours. The mirror in the bathroom shows a scrawny kid with red rimmed eyes and thin ribs decorated with bruises._

_Sometimes there is blood. The boy does not like to look at it, not at first. When he looks at it, he can feel the coppery taste of it at the back of his throat, and it makes him sick. The blood always, always carries that sharp odor, the rusty smell that screams of danger and lust. The boy uses lots of water to wash it from his skin. Water flows, washes, cleans._

_Slowly he gets used to the smell of the blood, just like he gets used to a lot of other things._

_The breakfast table is the boy’s courtroom. He is the guilty prisoner, ready to be tried and condemned. His parents (the man and the woman) sit across him, sharing glances and watching him with shrewd eyes. The breakfast is served hot and they eat with a smile on their face. The man reads newspapers, talks about the world in general and the boy in particular. And the boy feels like shouting in frustration._

_The chair is hard on him, the pain in his backside increases whenever he tries to move. His insides keep knitting themselves together even as he speaks. The man looks at him with guileless eyes, asks questions about the boy’s progress in the school, and makes small talk. The woman joins in, ruffles the boy’s hair and tells him to drink his milk. The boy barely resists flinching when she touches him._

_The execution council, he thinks. The name’s unfamiliar to him, he had recently heard it from one of his schoolmates, but it seems right, appropriate. An execution council that is capable of delivering swift justice._

_The sun doesn’t revolve around the earth, they teach in schools. The earth revolves around the sun. And the earth is self-sustained, it revolves around itself too. That is how days and nights are made. At any given point of time, the sun can only illuminate one face of the earth. The other one would be dark._

_The boy feels the coldness of night at every waking moment. He wants the warmth that only the sun can bring, needs the light to fight the darkness that has been growing inside him. But it seems like the light has abandoned him, permanently. It seems like the light has forgotten him, forever._ ****

_The seed of darkness, the seed of fear when planted grows from within. With each cruel act, it gathers strength._

_**-**_


	10. Chapter 10

The ocean asks for sacrifices. She can be charitable when she wants to be, but she remembers to collect her price, later. She needs sacrifices. For each favor granted, she demands something back. 

Chad is the first casualty. 

Chad is gone. 

He is not dead. Jared is sure of that. His transmitter is still active and it sends signals from time to time. The transmitter lets them know about the approximate location. Periodically, the beep of the incoming transmission fills the station. That means Chad is moving too. 

He never comes in. Jared tried to get him inside, even got help from Jeff and Jensen, and put the struggling mass inside this little manmade oasis. Chris didn’t help in any of that. Said that they were better off without Chad, laughed loudly about the tale of little lost pedophile. 

Jared thought that was a little cruel of him given the fact that they all have skeletons to hide. Then again, Jared is no authority on such matters. It’s none of his business. 

But there is one thing that he is sure of, one assumption that can be called a fact under the circumstances. 

Chad has gone native. 

He doesn’t spell it out for others but he knows that others are thinking of it too. They don’t speak about it among themselves, pretending that ignoring it would do any good to them. 

At first it was simple things, like missing his shifts or forgetting about his surroundings. But it didn’t stop there, and now they have written him off. As Jared understands it, the company is going to send someone to take his place. 

 **-**

Jared meets Chad on one of his outings. 

To say he’s changed would be an understatement. 

The thing that floats above him can hardly be called human. But Jared knows that it can’t be anyone else. The thing is twisted like a snake, feels wrong, and feels defective. Wired differently, therefore wired wrong. 

Maybe there is nothing inherently wrong with it. Jared muses. Maybe it’s all part of the process, part of a controlled experiment. Caterpillars hide in cocoons and wait for spring to come, waiting for the change. Caterpillars eat everything on their path; gather energy required for the transformation. 

There is a word for it—he recalls—metamorphosis. 

Looks like Chad is going through the same phase. Jared observes him with the fascination of a scientist. Chad is skittish around the edges. Like a spooked animal. Jared thinks and extends an arm. Waits till Chad is settled a bit, then brushes his shoulder with careful fingers. 

That is when things go to shit. 

The lights switch on and Jared scolds himself for forgetting how close they were to the Station. The lights switch on and dazzle him with their intensity, illuminating every single thing in the neighborhood. The dark waters lose their charm, for light strips off any mystery they still hold in their wombs. And before Jared can react, before he can warn Chad, something swoops down and picks up him, like a mechanical arm moving one of the containers on the factory floor. 

Chad struggles, writhes; an animal betrayed, fooled into submission. And Jared wasn’t even trying to catch him, that wasn’t even the plan. But it is Jared who gets accused, who becomes the recipient of the hateful gaze. There is nothing new in that. 

Jared hauls his ass inside, ready to see what all the fuss is about. 

The thing that was Chad is suspended in thin air, held by invisible threads. One of the robots monitor it while the humans discuss on the viable course of actions. Jared joins the line. Sophia and Cindy stay close together, hands held together. Chris is the cat that got the canary, happy with his kill. Jeff seems equally enthralled, and they both talk in low murmurs. 

“We have to see it up close,” Jeff says and they all agree. They are the children in a carnival, trying to get inside the circus tent. Here to watch the freak, here to get free entertainment. 

Jared sees everything. Nods in correct places, joins the queue, acts indifferent. It is not that difficult. 

Chad used to be one of them. He used to be the crazy outcast who occasionally got beaten up by others. He used to belong with them in a twisted kind of way. Now he is nobody’s friend. Worse, he is nobody’s enemy. He is not even human, not even a body. Bodies, even dead ones get respect, even the underserved ones get a funeral. 

Chad is just a thing now. 

Only Jensen looks bored. Not interested in the drama that unfolds before him. Stands straight as always, but his shoulders are slightly bent, relaxed. He looks like he’s supervising the entire show. 

Jared feels this urge in his chest, this force that suddenly comes into the play. Wants to go and stand with Jensen, wants something unnamable from Jensen, and he is sure, dead sure that only Jensen can provide him that. Only Jensen can make things happen. Only he can open the closed doors and barricade the open ones. 

All of them are still children. All of them kids, overgrown, abused and scared kids trying to survive in a hostile world. Jensen is not one of them. Whatever criteria they had used for the selection process, whatever variables they had set, Jensen doesn’t satisfy them. Jensen is the anomaly. 

And Jared is interested now, very interested. 

They gather around Chad, faces set in stone, mouths a thin line. Like vultures waiting for the death of the prey animal. Jared can see the beaks on their faces if he closes his eyes. He can see the claws in their fingers. Sharp nails, malnourished tendons.

We all grow up to become monsters. He realizes. And laughter bubbles in his throat. 

Chad, the thing that was once human, opens its eyes. Yellow pupils shy away from the light, and the body tries to get away from them. Withers like a plant left in rainstorm, struggles to hold itself. The yellow irises haunt Jared. 

Most of the teeth are gone, decayed. The mouth is a cave, smelly and repulsive. The rotten odor of decaying flesh fills the air, pollutes the filtered atmosphere. Gen looks away first, turns her head in disgust. Jared cannot look away. It’s like watching a train wreck. He can’t miss a single thing. 

The skin is bloated. Outer layer stripped off and inner ones have already started changing. The thing’s (Chad’s, Jared tries to remember) skin is falling off from its body. Chunks of flesh are left exposed and something like gangrene has already made itself home there. The sight is gruesome. 

“Wow, I’ll be fucked,” Jeff says speaking for everyone. Everyone but Jensen, that is. 

“See here, the dark spots. And here, the grey ones. It looks like…” Jensen touches the thing with abandon, feels the place where the skin has undergone transformation and tries to recollect something. 

“Almost like a snake,” Jared completes his sentence. Once he can see the pattern, he can’t get it out of his mind. 

“No teeth either,” Jensen agrees. 

“Lights,” Jeff says, catching on. 

Jensen is faster than him. He shines the light and focuses on Chad’s eyes. The eyes that stare back are not human, not even remotely. They are not even mammalian. There is no recognition in them, no higher power behind those eyes to govern. All that is left is pure reflex. Only base impulses have been left intact. 

He doesn’t stop the inspection there, touches each and every part of the repulsive creature, puts his fingers inside its mouth and pulls one of the remaining teeth from the cavity. The thing hisses and fights back, unsuccessfully tries to bite at the fingers. 

“Reptile,” Jensen says, finally. Waits for a second and continues. 

“I have seen guys like this. Not here, obviously. There is nothing we can do for him. He’s changed. It’s best to put him back.” 

You didn’t even flinch, Jared thinks. You didn’t even flinch when that thing (not Chad, not Chad) tried to bite you. What are you, Jensen? 

“His teeth are rotting, Jesus, everything is rotting,” Cindy speaks for the first time. 

“Not rotting, technically.” Jared says and all of them (except Jensen, Jared notes) look at him like he has lost his mind. 

“What Jared meant was that the Chad here,” Jensen waves his palms toward the resigned lump and continues “is just evolving. His brain or whatever is left of it has new priorities now. His body is just following those orders, catching up. A little rewiring, a little redecoration, stuff like that,” 

“But he is going to die there,” Both Chris and Gen speak at the same time. One voice laced with genuine concern (She likes Chad, in her own way) one with undisguised glee.

“Or he’ll learn to live,” Jared says, surprising himself. His voice is steady, unaffected, not showing the turmoil that goes inside his head. 

Just like Jared did. Damaged, broken and decaying- the body doesn’t care. The will to live can do astonishing things. Animals adapt to their environment. It’s either that or face extinction. And no one wants to get extinct. Ask Dodo. 

“Yeah,” Jensen says and their eyes meet across the table, hazel on green, water on fire. Jared feels giddy with something he can’t name yet. 

Jeff clears his throat and draws their attention. His eyes narrow to slits and his hand moves to touch Jared.

_Already laying claims on me,_ Jared thinks. He moves aside to join Gen, sick of the ownership games.

When he looks again, Jensen has vanished. The man is some kind of magician, he can disappear in seconds, or so Jared feels. 

They put Chad back in the water, releasing him to his natural habitat.

 **-**

That night Jared dreams of Jensen for the first time. He can only see the eyes- the green eyes- stare at him from an unfamiliar face. But he knows that it is Jensen, knows that it has to be Jensen. He calls for him, runs to catch up with him, because there is something important that needs to be said. But Jensen doesn’t listen, just walks without looking back. Wanders on the beach where water flows with abandon. Roams in the narrow cliffs where river curves. Gets lost in one of the tropical rain-forests (How’s that possible? They have all gone extinct) and never stops.


	11. Chapter 11

Jared has found a place, a secret hideaway where he can rest in peace, where he can avoid others and dream. The rift is almost gentle here, the water pressure almost nil, the light absolutely absent. He switches off the headlamp and floats in near darkness. 

He cannot sleep here, the eye-caps won’t let him close his eyes, but he can still dream. He keeps his eyes open and stares at the abyss, becomes a part of the abyss, and slowly the images start appearing in front of his eyes. Dreams and nightmares, conjured into existence by his overactive imagination, fill the void that threatens to swallow him up. 

The mud and rocks are at his back, and he rests on them for a while. The water sizzles with the thermal distortion, and he can feel the heat of it on his back, can feel the molten lava of it on his skin. The diveskin protects him from the heat and pressure, but, sometimes he just want to try swimming here without it.

Like Chad. The thought is simultaneously seductive and repulsive.

He can’t stop thinking about it.

Someone comes into his sanctuary, violating the sacredness of it. Jared senses the intruder and turns the headlamp on. The dream dies as he loses the track of it. 

It’s Jensen. He hovers above, not yet coming inside the place that Jared considers his own. It’s actually funny, because, Jensen doesn’t know the boundaries Jared has drawn here, yet, he seems to respect them. Jared looks up again, sees the white eyes in place of the green ones, and meets the blank stare of them with his own. 

He wishes to see those green eyes again. Wants to see what lies beneath that impersonal stare. 

They don’t talk. There is no need for that. Jared opens his arms and Jensen takes the invitation. There is not enough room for both of them inside the cave, the structure is already unstable as it is. Yet, Jared, moves closer to the rocks, and clears the space for Jensen. He can feel the weight of Jensen’s eyes on him, can feel the heat of it in his skin. 

Jensen isn’t touching him; he’s just there, a solid presence on his side. His very presence has a calming effect, as if he’s the anchor in the troubled waters. Jared gravitates toward him, can’t help but feel attracted to him. He scoots near Jensen, shoulders brushing now. But he doesn’t dare to touch. Not yet. 

The diveskin is not thicker than a couple of inches, it doesn’t hide anything. Jared feels the flush of embarrassment on his face as his cock rises. He’s sure that it is visible now, and that thought only makes him more aroused. 

He wants Jensen to see what he is doing, wants him to know what this proximity is doing to Jared. 

This emotion is alien to him; this anticipation comes without the pain he associates with sex. This desire is new to him, and it doesn’t burn his skin with the intensity of it, merely gives him warmth and protection. 

He doesn’t know a single thing about Jensen. Jensen’s mind is as impenetrable as always, his manner still mysterious. Even now, even here, he refuses to touch Jared. He is there, as solid and as real as anything Jared has seen in his life, yet, he is as fragile as one of the dreams. 

Jared does not dare to touch. Stays there and enjoys the company in silence. 

The seconds turn into minutes, and the minutes change into hours. Jared loses the track of time. After an eternity he opens his eyes and finds that Jensen has left him.

It shouldn’t bother him but it does. This rejection hurts. 

**-**  

The very air inside is suffocating. The Station is always crowded even when it is unoccupied. The walls and the cubicles, the machinery and the lab, everything is designed to suck life of out its inhabitants. Jared walks these places like a zombie travelling through the heavy traffic, unaware and graceless. Sometimes he meets the other ghosts that haunt this place, sometimes he talks to them. 

Sometimes he fucks one of those ghosts just for the fun of it. 

“Jensen is missing,” Sophia tells him with a hint of concern coloring her tone. 

“He’ll be back.” Jared dismisses her concerns and waits for her to leave. She doesn’t. 

“Have you noticed that he doesn’t come inside anymore? He sleeps out there. What if he has lost his mind? What if he is becoming another Chad?” She asks again, and Jared recognizes the intent behind her questions. 

She thinks he is the one who is in charge of this Station. So she is reporting it back to him, before she reports it back to the Company. He is flattered by her concern, but he finds the thought hilarious too.

Jared remembers the strange intimacy they shared in the cave and thinks of the green eyes that remind him of liquid nitrogen. 

Jensen going over like Chad - that is something that will never happen in a million years. 

“No. Jensen is not like Chad. He’ll be back. Trust me on this.” 

She leaves reluctantly. 

Jensen comes back the next day. Jared shares a secret smile with her. 

 **-**


	12. Chapter 12

Jeff is the next one on the list. He starts spending more time outside. And now Jared feels that there is something fishy here, something that needs to be investigated. 

Jeff is not Jensen. Abyss affects him, leaves the signs of its ownership all over him for Jared to see. 

His moods change drastically now. His skin is considerably paler than before. His muscles less defined. But these changes are not important; they are just symptoms of the something else, something that roots deep inside him. 

There is another presence there, a shadow that lurks behind his eyes and waits for its chance. A shadow that feels wrong, wrong and twisted. Jared can feel him through the link, can feel how the edges are blurring with each passing day. 

It scares him. 

There are other things too. 

Jeff is more aggressive, less understanding. They have more sessions now, each one progressively rougher than the previous one. He occasionally beats Jared too, not the sexy kind of beating, but the one that says that Jeff is mad and looking for a punching bag. Some days are tougher than others, some days Jared can feel the bruises all over him when he walks. 

Jeff acts as a caged animal acts. Weary, suspicious and dangerous. He refuses to come inside the Station, and only enters the Station when he needs Jared. They fuck, don’t talk and Jeff bolts the moment he’s done. Jared lies there, still horizontal (if that was the position he’d started in that day) and tries to sleep.  

Why should Jared care? What is in it for him? He didn’t care when it was Chad, there is no logical reason for him to care now. Should he care because they are fucking? Not good enough. 

Is there a module there? In his brain? A section of code written in the right hemisphere of his brain, dictated in his DNA, the etiquettes that govern the behavior of mammals post-fucking. Perhaps subtle differences in hormone levels ought to do that, maybe they are supposed to tell him about how to act around his significant other.

There is a certain intimacy that should have been there between them, a certain feeling that is missing. They aren’t any closer than they were before. He isn’t tuned to Jeff anymore than he is to others. They are practically strangers if he subtracts the sex from their dynamic. 

Maybe it is all false. Maybe love is just another illusion. All composed of rumors and wishful thinking. Maybe we just follow the established social norms and convince ourselves that we are in love. Maybe there is no elaborate scheme there, no rules for kin selection-just some muddling social structure and plain old habits working inside. Kids learn by watching adults. Maybe that is all there is. 

Chad—bless him—is at least evolving. Whatever may be the end result of that transformation, he has at least tried. Not intentionally, not consciously. But then natural selection doesn’t care either way. If it works, it stays. If it is better than the alternatives available, it stays. That’s all. 

Jared imagines a world populated with Chad’s offspring-the thought doesn’t bother him, not by much. 

**-**

When they are outside, when they are not surrounded by manmade machinery and false alarms, the things are different. Gone is the Neanderthal that likes to fuck and beat Jared; gone is the jealous boyfriend (although Jared is not sure about that terminology). Instead Jeff acts as the model citizen. His eyes are clear here, not muddled with suspicion or fear, his mind is easily accessible. 

Jared likes this Jeff. He wouldn’t want to fuck this version, but he likes to spend time with the teddy bear. (Bears will eat you, boy) 

During one of those visits, they huddle together like children watching shooting stars. The girls are on the other side, and Jensen is missing as usual. Chris floats somewhere above them. Jeff goes inside, abruptly and Jared follows, guided by instinct. He waits till Jeff removes the suit. 

Jeff speaks with the same dopey eyes. His words slurred slightly, his voice shot to hell. “Do you want to know a trick baby?” he leans in and whispers, like he’s sharing a secret. 

“I have been messing with my medication. And it’s glorious,” He laughs. 

“Are you insane?” Jared asks, suitably horrified. He is horrified. 

Neuroinhibitors. The drugs contain neuroinhibitors in them, chemicals designed to stop neurons from firing indiscriminately, chemicals that slow down the action. They are prescribed for a reason. 

The pressure is enormous at 300 atmospheres. The humans are not designed to handle that kind of environment. The diveskin protects the body from the impact of it, but it can’t protect the mind. The pressure triggers the neurons. Lights them up like fireworks in 4th July celebration. The brain can’t handle the intensity of it, can’t control the actions of its own children. So it quits, seizes and dies. 

Jared recalls his debriefing. Remembers watching this tiny shrimplike creature struggle and die in front of him. He can’t understand why Jeff would want to die in a similar manner. 

“No. Not really. I’m still taking them, obviously. Or else I’d be dead. I’ve only changed the dosage. ” 

“That is still dangerous. It’s still illegal. You could be punished for it. You could be thrown into one of those prisons for life. Why are you doing this?” 

Jeff laughs at that, a bitter chuckle that rubs Jared in the wrong way. 

“That is a good joke. This place is already a prison. We are already confined here, prisoners.” He stops there before continuing,

"You have to try it Jared. You have got to see it. Do it for me, just this once." He squeezes Jared’s arm before leaving him. Jared stares at his retreating back and feels apprehension rising inside him like the tide under moonlight.

 Jared wants to try it, wants to see what Jeff sees when he looks into the chasm, wants to open the doors to the other side. He tells himself that he’ll do it only once, just to see the beauty of abyss with new and improved eyes. 

He wonders if it would be any more beautiful that it already is. 

The resistance comes from an unexpected source. Jeff. 

Jeff, the sweet Jeff, the guy with two faces, dies. 

And Jared’s plans change.

 **-**


	13. Chapter 13

People get premonitions over all sorts of things. You have lots of work and you call home and tell your spouse that you are going to be late. Then something sparks and you decide to come home early. Love of your life (you both take those pills to enhance your feelings toward each other) is fucking your neighbor. On your bed. You cancel the flight and the plane crashes, leaving no survivors. Such things are known to happen. Luck, destiny or plain old brain chemistry—you can call it by any name. 

Jensen gets these premonitions too. A little tick starts at the side of his temple, an itch that grows until he can’t ignore it. Like a signal. Maybe Purgatory has a hand in this, maybe not. Every time he gets the itch, he ends up with a reward. He gets to close some loopholes. 

So he waits. 

Before long, he notices the changes. Jeff is acting strange, and Jensen makes it his job to know the reason behind his unnatural happiness. It can’t be about Jared. Jensen knows that they are fucking, just like he knows that Chris and Sophia are fucking. It is his job. He knows things, learns the differences, and analyzes the responses. 

So when Jeff starts acting all happy, he lights up all the defenses. 

Jensen stalks him, deliberately. Never make the prey conscious of yourself, be casual. Be welcoming. Be approachable. Don’t use force when words are enough. Don’t scare your target. Use psychology. Don't use unnecessary force.

“I know you want him, I just know it,” Jeff growls angrily. His moods change rapidly and right now he is in a bitchy one. Outside he is good, almost a saint. Inside he is this moron. Jensen suspects that he is meddling with drugs, but there is no proof. 

Sometimes suspicions are enough. He can provide evidence later, if required. 

“No, Jeff. I don’t want him.” He says the words slowly, empathetically. 

It could have been the truth. But it isn’t. Not now. Not when Jensen has spent his evenings with Jared in the little cave that isn’t really a cave. Not when he feels the desire to touch him with naked fingers. Not when he wants to sink in those blank eyes that stare at him through the eye-caps. 

Not when he wants to fuck Jared facedown on the ocean floor with abyss witnessing their coupling. 

But Jeff doesn’t need to know that. 

“You think I’m blind? I see the way you look at him, I see the way he looks at you,” Jeff doesn’t stop, stalks toward Jensen aggressively, jabs a finger in his chest, pushing him backwards with the momentum. Jensen sees the way his hands are shaking, sees the way his pupils are blown, all black with no traces of white in between and predicts a nervous breakdown in near future. 

Jeff shouts suddenly, his whole body vibrates like it was hit by unseen forces. His eyes widen and Jensen can read the shock in his stare. He doesn’t look angry anymore. He looks scared. 

“Oh my god,” he says, still talking, but the words have no force behind them now. “Oh my god,” he repeats, “You, how are you even alive?” He says with something like wonder filling his voice. The impossibility of that question is enough for Jensen. But Jeff just keeps on talking, digging his own grave. 

"Your face, it's all gone, you have no face,” Jeff rambles, as unaware and as foolish as a sacrificial lamb.

 _You didn’t, Jensen thinks. You didn’t spy on me. You didn’t read me. You just didn’t._ There are a lot of things he can overlook, a lot of things he can forgive. He doesn’t even kill unless _Purgatory_ asks for it. He’s practically a saint. 

But this isn’t something that can be forgiven. He’s got secrets. Those aren’t his to share but they are sure his to guard. He’s the chosen killing machine, the trusted vault that never fails. He’s wired to the cause. His memories--the things he has done, the things that are done to him-they are off-limits. 

No one is allowed to look at them. No one is allowed to read him. He’s got his defenses. He knows how to deflect the attempts, knows how to keep his mind a blank canvas, knows how not to crack under torture. He’s been trained by the best. 

But somehow Jeff has cracked those defenses. Perhaps he did something with those drugs, experimented and ended up with this sixth sense. Jensen will remember to add that in his report. Now, Jeff is reading him, has entered the forbidden places inside his head. 

The neurons, the part of his brain that deals with warfare, light up in response. They are intimately connected to _Purgatory_ , and he knows this, knows that _Purgatory_ will wake up in a moment to deal with the situation, as it always does. 

And true to its nature, it does exactly that. It wakes up and pumps him with necessary enhancers, adds the extra thrill and compulsion to spice the task of killing. 

He does an extraordinary thing. He gets furious. 

There is a personal element here. Jared. It’s unprofessional of Jensen to think about personal gain, but, he does it regardless. Jeff was fucking Jared. He was leaving those bruises on Jared’s skin like a neon sign for everyone to see. He was touching what was not his to touch. Now, Jensen has a legitimate reason, finally, to end this sick game. 

He loses his patience, leans in and twists Jeff’s neck with his bare hands. _Purgatory_ calls him, cries for the blood and he delivers gladly. Gives up the driving position without argument, lets _Purgatory_ take control, gladly. Assumes the shotgun seat and watches as his limbs work. 

The look of astonishment stays on Jeff’s face. He doesn’t suffer. Jensen is not a fan of dragging things out. He doesn’t like to play cat and mouse games with his marks. He likes to fight fair and square, likes to give them a chance to fight back. _Purgatory_ approves his morals. That is enough for him. 

The sensation that fills him is unlike anything else. It is like being on dope, like being on all the enhancers, like fucking the love of his life. All of Jensen’s senses are engaged. His entire body seethes with the intensity of it. Jeff’s body lies near his feet, broken and twisted. Neck bent in unnatural angle and face grimaced in a painful mask. His mouth opened in half-shriek, blood oozing from the broken nails. 

And Jensen is the vindictive God. Jensen is the ruler of the entire world. Jensen is the one with all the answers. 

He fucks his own fist, draws out the process, relishing the sweetness of this pleasure. Keeps his eyes on Jeff, and thinks about Jared. He thinks of fucking Jared while Jeff lies dead at his feet. He comes like a freight train, and for a second, he ceases to exist. 

With a dead body at his feet, with the rush of Purgatory in his veins, with his cock in his hands, Jensen achieves Nirvana.

 **-**                

Jared finds Jeff next day. 

No, it’s not Jeff anymore. He finds the body the next day. It’s a broken shell. The neck twisted to the breaking point, the eyeballs out of their sockets and the torso ripped. He looks nothing like the strong man Jared once knew. He is diminished, dead, gone. 

Jared is as cold as the waters that surround him. The temperature is well below freezing point and the body lies in one of the caves, staring at the abyss with dead eyes. 

And Jared doesn’t feel anything. 

Well maybe he feels something. A bit regret, a bit hopelessness, a bit sadness. But the emotion that occupies the front seat in his mind is relief. He is not happy that Jeff is gone. He just feels relief, plain old relief. Like how you feel after completing a particularly difficult exercise. 

Relived and drained. 

He leaves Jeff’s body out there, turns his back on the carcass. In the last moment, something compels him; something sitting at the base of his skull makes a difficult decision. He removes one of the gloves and leans in to close the eyes that stare emptily at him. 

The details pour out of Jeff like maggots pouring out of a dead bird. Jared staggers beneath the force of them. Memories, overwhelm him, memories that depict the last few seconds of Jeff’s life blanket him, suffocate him. He sees the images broadcasting again and again, echoes of the last moments playing out in an infinite loop. 

Jared gets the answers to some questions. Questions like who, how and when are answered. But the ‘why’ component is still missing. He knows who will be having the answers. He has seen the person who has all the answers. And he is going to get them. Now. 

The image of Jensen, swift and merciless, twisting Jeff’s neck in a single move, breaking him as easily as one breaks a rag doll, killing him within seconds, is burned on Jared’s retinas. He thinks that it is going to stay there as long as he lives. 

And that image stops him, every time he gathers the courage to act. It’s suicidal, he knows. He knows the damage Jensen can inflict, has seen him in action, has seen the evidence of his cruelty. It should be enough to stop him. But it isn’t. By gods, it isn’t. 

He needs answers. He needs closure. Not because he wants to confront Jensen, not because he wants to avenge Jeff. He just needs to know the reason. And the urge spreads through his limbs, makes him seek Jensen.

 **-** 

“Why did you do it?” Jared asks, impatient. Not in the mood to play games. 

Jensen opens one eye, looks at him with something approaching laziness. Asks without hurry—Jared hates his guts, “What do you mean?” 

“Don’t lie to me. I know you killed him. I saw you killing him.” 

“You saw nothing. You are lying. You know, I can always tell.” Jensen leans in and whispers in Jared’s ear. “I like you. And you caught me in a good mood. I’m going to do something for you. I’ll tell you the truth, although I don’t know why you would care. Jeff wasn’t someone worth dying for.” 

“You don’t know that,” Jared says, lamely. Jensen doesn’t even think that qualifies for a reply. 

“Jeff put his nose in my business. Did the worst thing he could do. He wanted to see inside my head. He was experimenting with the chemicals.” He squeezes Jared’s shoulders with an iron grip. “I don’t like it when someone does that. I don’t like to get fooled. And Jeff tried that. He paid the price.” 

“You are a killer,” Jared says. He takes a step forward even when all his senses are telling him to get away from Jensen. 

This man is a killer. But then why Jared is still here, still waiting? Why is he waiting for the teary eyed confession when it is clear that Jensen doesn’t even regret the act of killing?

 “Bingo. You figured it out. Do you want a cookie now? ” Jensen smirks before continuing in a sober tone, ”But I’m a killer with morals. Least I am not getting off on it,” with that he walks out, leaving Jared to stare at his retreating back.

 **-**


	14. Chapter 14

_The boy wears baggy clothes now, clothes that are easier to remove. Some days he sleeps naked. Some days he waits for the monster to come and claim him. Some days he cries. Some days he keeps quiet. Every day he waits, waits for the monster to come. There is no rhythm to the act, no rules to follow, nothing rhymes. There is no way to know when the monster will come, no way to determine. The anticipation keeps him upright, the stress drives him insane._

_Every time he gets fucked, every time he gets raped, something happens inside. His body breaks down, his mind follows soon after. There is only one way to stop that. The system is breaking down from the inside and the brain does the only thing it could do. It dumps the chemicals in blood, starts producing excess amount of antidepressants. Makes the boy eat sugar filled candies, increases the amount of adrenaline in blood, and changes the metabolic rates._

_It turns the abuse into addiction. It does that by supplying the home-made dope for the boy, by changing his perspective on the matter. And slowly, very slowly, the boy changes, adapts. Starts craving the fucking, starts craving the beatings. Not because he likes it or enjoys it, not because he thinks he deserves it, but for ulterior motives. The sex itself is not pleasurable for him, not when it is with the monster, but the feeling he gets afterwards, the high he gets post-fucking is delicious. Not in your face high one gets from cheap drugs, but something deeper, refreshing, touching not only his body, but his soul._

_The boy grows up, becomes a man. But inside he is still the same. Inside he is still searching for his father._

_**-**_

Jared waits until Jeff’s disappearance has become old news among the crew. He doesn’t share his findings with them, doesn’t tell them about Jensen’s involvement. Lets them assume the worst.

Jeff's words linger in his ears, seductive and treacherous, seducing him with the promise of salvation. He can't stop thinking about it. He wants to try, even if its only once. He's sure that there is no harm if he only does it one time.

So he messes with the medication and goes outside to watch abyss with the improved eyes.

The results are nothing short of spectacular. 

Jared sees colors. Sees the fucking rainbow draped over the darkness like a cloak. Feels the ocean around him, feels the vastness of it in his veins. He’s tuned to it, tuned to the cosmic song that governs the moves of the very earth itself. 

Wow. He doesn’t have words left in him to explain. There comes a time, a stage when language becomes inadequate, obsolete. Jared is at that point now. He’s there, at the very beginning of the universe, where everything is pure, glorious. 

This must be heaven- cross that-this is heaven. 

Now he understands why Jeff took this risk. 

Just when it was getting good, the inevitable happens. He sees his father. 

He is five year old and he sees his father again. 

This is not a hallucination. It’s not anything as crude as that. This is no hallucination, no illusion. Jared knows this scene, intimately. He has had nightmares based on this memory. That is right, this is a memory. 

Jared has dreamed of that night for hundreds of nights. Now he gets to see it again. This time he’s wide awake, that’s the only difference. 

 _The man comes inside the room. He watches the boy. Watches the way his eyelids are moving, touches the little fingers. Smiles and adjusts the comforter until the child is completely covered. Closes the open books, turns off the monitor. He looks around suspiciously, his gaze lingering on the shadows for a second more than required._  

 _Jared stalls himself for the next part._

_The man bends down and kisses the boy’s forehead. Rumples the wild hair and looks at the child for a moment. Then bends again and places one little peck on the pink lips. After that he leaves the room, softly closing the door behind him._

_And it ends there. The memory, the dream, the hallucination, whatever it was, it ends there._

Jared doesn’t understand. Not even a single thing. The events aren’t going on according to the script and there is something here, something very, very wrong. 

He can’t even scream here, can’t even cry aloud. He feels lost, feels destroyed. 

He doesn’t remember how he got inside the Station, doesn’t remember getting out of diveskin either. But once he is free of the suit, he starts screaming.

**-** 

Jensen finds him like that. 

The sight surprises him, evokes some long-lost emotion in his chest, and makes him feel for the first time in many years. Jared looks ugly like this, tears rolling on his cheeks, falling on his shirt. Jared looks small, and that’s a feat considering how big he really is. 

Jared looks defeated, destroyed. 

“You knew,” he states. Jensen tries to look guilty. It’s not very hard when he feels the alien emotion inside. 

“No. I didn’t. Not at first.” It’s the truth. The guys who sit at top don’t share their secrets with the likes of Jensen. Not unless it is absolutely necessary. 

“Why me?” Jared searches for the words, and gives up when he can’t find them. 

Jensen keeps quiet. Thinks about how much he can say without invoking Purgatory and chooses his words carefully. 

“We wanted you. No, the management wanted you. And this was the only way to make sure that you were safe.” 

Something like laugher erupts from Jared’s throat. Jensen doesn’t look away, meets those accusing eyes without flinching. 

Jared is beautiful like this, he thinks idly. Jared’s eyes, lit up with righteous fury, shine with enough heat to burn Jensen alive. 

“So,” Jared says in that awful voice. “Let me get this straight. You wanted me on this expedition. No, you needed me. So you went ahead and rewired my brain, you fabricated my entire life. You made all these lies about my childhood. Made me into this thing,” 

“Not me, Jared. I didn’t do a single thing to you. And there is no need to be that melodramatic. But yes, they rewired your brain, planted memories in your brain, made you believe that you were abused.” 

Jared laughs now, loud and harsh, broken. 

“So none of that was real?” 

“Nope.” Jared takes a deep breath, and asks again in a very small voice. 

“And my parents? Where are they?” 

“Dead, both of them. It’s the standard protocol. No living relatives either.” Jensen states simply. 

“Did he,” Jared hiccups and clears his throat before continuing, “Did he touch me like that?” He can’t help but ask, can’t help but seek answer to this single question like a pilgrim seeking the salvation. 

“No. I don’t think so. I think he was a typical Dad. Middle-class, value-based kind of person,” Jensen tells him kindly. 

Of course, this declaration will change nothing. Of course the nightmares won’t end. And Jared will not miraculously become someone else. He knows that the memories were false, induced ones. That knowledge doesn’t change a single thing. As far as his brain is considered they are the real deal. 

Jensen sees the question in his eyes and replies. 

“You can’t retrieve them. They are gone, burned out.” His words are harsh but they are true. 

Memories make a person. What happens to someone when their entire life is made up of nothing but fake tokens? The Jared, the real one, is gone, erased when they took everything that defined him. They twisted him and manipulated him and made him into this person, this man. Everything he believed was false, fabricated, made up. But without those memories he is nothing. His entire personality is just a fraud. Jared thought of Jensen as the wild card, the square peg in round hole. But it was Jared who never fit anywhere; it was Jared whose entire existence was nothing but a lie. 

Jared can’t cry now. There are no tears left in him. 

Jensen looks at him with something resembling pity. Jensen, the hired killer, pities him. And something inside him snaps, takes notice, and goes mad with the quest for revenge. There will be time for that, later. Jared won’t forget this. 

And Jared won’t forgive them either. They are asking for it, really. They are asking for it and Jared will give it to them, will teach them a lesson. 

But at first he has to deal with Jensen. 

“What are you going to do to me?” He asks the inevitable question. 

“Nothing,” Jensen says simply. Jared doesn’t believe him, can’t believe anything after this, but the answer eases something in his chest.

He leans up, and kisses Jensen. It’s a chaste kiss, but it feels good to have this connection.

This kiss won't change anything between them, not really. Jensen is still dangerous, and Jared is still attracted to him. But there is something between them, something fragile and precious and this kiss acknowledges that. Maybe there is a chance for them, maybe there is not. Jared wants to take the risk, even if it turns out deadly for him.

_And having Jensen at his side would help him in his quest._

When Jared opens his eyes he sees green eyes staring at him. 

“You don’t look like my father. Plus, I have wanted to do that for a long, long time,” Says and asks “Are you complaining?” 

Jensen’s lips on his lips answer that question, quite satisfactorily.

 **-**

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.


End file.
